Family Tree
by MistakenMagic
Summary: "With eyes following the howls on the horizon, Kíli drew back his bow... but the arrow never left it." Thorin and Kili are injured in a battle with wargs on the plains and taken back to Rivendell. A distraught Fili learns what it means to be an heir of Durin. Family Fic.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello everyone! Right, I have a dissertation to do this holiday so obviously I thought the most productive course of action would be to start writing a Hobbit fanfic! I struggled to find a title for this one, but was inspired by the song 'Family Tree' by Dry The River. Lyrics from the song serve as epigraphs to chapters. I hope you enjoy my procrastination!**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own anything.**

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"_How did you fall so far from the family tree?_

_And why did you follow when you saw what happened to me?"_

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"Kíli!" Thorin bellowed, from where he stood on the jagged island of rock.

The rest of his company were safe behind him in a tunnel cut into the rock, but his young nephew was still out on the plains, firing arrows at the approaching wargs. Hearing Thorin's call, Kíli turned his head back to his uncle and nodded, but with another arrow already between his fingers, he couldn't resist one last shot at the enemy; he was yet to miss a target. With eyes following the howls on the horizon, Kíli drew back his bow... but the arrow never left it.

"NO!"

From his place below in the tunnel, Fíli heard Thorin's cry with so much anguish twisting in that single syllable. "Kíli," he breathed. With his sword still drawn, he lurched forward, pushing past Bofur and Ori to join Gandalf at the mouth of the cave. He wasn't prepared for the sight that met his eyes. Thorin had leapt from the boulder and was running towards the fallen form of Kíli, who was lying splayed out in the brown grass, his face covered in blood, with a single black arrow rising up from a circle of red under his collarbone. A warg and his orc rider stalked towards Kíli, the orc gripping a mace, its spikes wet with the young dwarf's blood.

Fíli cried out just as Thorin had done; at first his whole body was frozen by the horror of the scene before him, and his fingers were so numb he feared he would drop his sword. But then his heartbeat began pounding in his ears, a terrible, distraught fire was kindled within him, and he went to scramble up the rocky entrance.

"No, Fíli!" Gandalf said sternly, his arm shooting out to stop the dwarf.

"We have to help them!" Fíli cried, looking up at the wizard in disbelief and trying to push his arm away. He felt the rest of the company surging forward with further shouts of protest. Turning back to the plains, Fíli saw Thorin standing protectively in front of Kíli, his sword, Orcrist, slicing the air before the advancing warg. Suddenly the shadows of more wargs appeared on the lip of the surrounding cliffs. Fíli struggled against Gandalf's arm with a growl, his sword dangerously close to the wizard's stomach, wondering in his frustration if he dared gut someone who seemed older than time itself. But it appeared even Gandalf was not prepared for what happened next. Fíli never saw the arrow, or who fired it. He only saw Thorin freeze for a split second, and then lunge towards the closest warg with a roar. But the orc rider was ready for him; he swung his spiked mace and struck a deadly blow to Thorin's head. Thorin wheeled around, his face hardly visible beneath blood so dark it was almost black, and that was when Fíli saw the arrow jutting out from Thorin's thigh.

"Thorin!" Fíli heard his voice echoing around the cavern, and the same pained call was returned by other members of the company.

And then Gandalf's arm fell. Fíli charged out of the tunnel, his sword held aloft like a beacon, and he called the dwarves into battle. The company followed his lead without question, and even Bilbo, last out of the tunnel though he was, unsheathed Sting, ready to join the fray. Fíli darted towards the dazed Thorin, who had crumpled onto his knees beside Kíli and was spitting blood onto the ground. But before he could reach his fallen uncle, the offending warg leapt on Thorin, seizing the dwarf's broken body between his enormous jaws. Thorin cried out in pain, yet still mustered enough fight to slash at the vile creature's muzzle with his sword. A yelp sounded deep in the warg's throat, but then he shook Thorin like a rag doll, and with a jerk of his head, flung him aside, so that he landed in the grass behind. After one shudder, Thorin didn't stir again.

Watching all this with wide, horrified eyes, Fíli was hardly aware that he was still running, but soon he had reached Kíli. Standing defensively over his brother, just as Thorin had done, he dared the warg to come closer. When the warg lurched towards him, Fíli didn't hesitate; he sank his sword straight into the side of the beast's neck. The warg let out a pathetic whine as Fíli withdrew his sword, taking care to rip further into its throat as he did so, and then the warg collapsed onto the grass. The orc rider scrambled from his mount and took a swipe at Fíli with his mace, but Fíli ducked just in time, then slashed his sword across the orc's gut. With an unearthly shriek, the orc fell forward, dead. Until this moment, Fíli had been unaware of anything else that was happening around him, focusing only on protecting his brother and avenging his injury. Now he saw that the whole company was engaged in fighting. Glóin, Óin, Bifur, and Bofur had formed almost a protective circle around himself and Kíli, stopping any other wargs from getting close. Dwalin, Balin, and Gandalf had done the same for Thorin, who had Bilbo kneeling at his side.

With Sting's warning blue glow before him, Bilbo's first target had not been a warg or an orc, but the leader of their company. Following on the dwarves' heels, Bilbo had galloped towards Thorin, knowing that Fíli's first reaction would be to go to Kíli. He found Thorin lying on his side, his face caked in drying blood, and his furs and garments ripped by the warg's teeth. "Thorin!" he gasped, gently shaking the dwarf's shoulder. Thorin made no response, so Bilbo slowly turned him onto his back. A shard of ice shot through Bilbo's stomach when he saw Thorin's eyes were open, and he thought the worst, but then they rolled back into Thorin's head and his lids closed over them. Though he had not spoken, Thorin had only just lost consciousness. Unsure of what to do, and with Sting shaking in his hand, Bilbo looked desperately around for help, but everyone was still on the attack; Dwalin, Balin, and Gandalf had formed a perimeter around Thorin, fighting back any warg who dared take them on. Turning back to Thorin, Bilbo saw that his left arm was lying at an odd angle; he must have landed on it, breaking the bone, and now the dwarf began to shiver. Bilbo quickly tore off his cloak and covered Thorin with it, tucking it around his shoulders. "Hang in there, Thorin," Bilbo whispered. "Help is on the way."

When Bilbo said this he had no idea in mind of what this help might be, and he jumped when he heard an unfamiliar horn sounding across the vale. Fíli looked up too, also startled by the horn. He was crouching next to Kíli, having just yanked the arrow out from under his brother's collarbone, and now had his hand firmly pressed against the wound, feeling Kíli's blood seeping out beneath his fingers. And then they arrived, pouring down over the cliffs in a bright sea of armour: the elves. They sent volley after volley of arrows raining down on the remaining wargs, and upon their horses they stormed the enemy, helping Thorin's company to extinguish every last one. After Dwalin's axe had struck the final blow, the leader of the Elvish battalion dismounted and walked swiftly to meet Gandalf not far from where Thorin lay. This tall, dark elf cast one concerned look towards Fíli, then quickly began to converse with Gandalf in Elvish.

Whether it was fear for his brother and uncle, or some deeply embedded anger at the presence of the elves, Fíli wasn't sure, but he found himself determined to confront the wizard. "Gandalf!" he shouted, "Why did you do it? Why did you stop me coming to the aid of my kin?" All eyes were now on Fíli, with one exception; Gandalf refused to meet his gaze, and quickly led the tall elf to Thorin. The elf looked at Fíli with regret, but followed Gandalf, kneeling down next to Bilbo at Thorin's side.

Bilbo looked at Gandalf questioningly, his worried eyes trying in vain to read the wizard's curious expression, and wondering why he didn't answer Fíli, and indeed what that answer was.

"We need to move quickly," Gandalf said quietly to Lord Elrond. "We must get Thorin and Kíli to your house of healing at Rivendell."

Elrond withdrew his hand from Thorin's bloodied forehead. "Agreed, we cannot help them here."

"You're not taking the rightful king of Erebor to an Elvish stronghold!" Balin spoke suddenly, moving towards Elrond.

"Now is not the time, Master Balin," Gandalf sighed.

"But he's right, Gandalf," Dwalin piped up, looking Elrond up and down, his fingers tightening around his axe. "We don't trust _their sort_... If he wants to carry Thorin and Kíli off to his tree house he can talk to my axe about it."

"Lord Elrond has just saved our lives, Master Dwalin!" Gandalf barked, drawing himself up to full height. "And you _will_ let him save Thorin and Kíli... Although this is not for me to decide." He turned to Fíli, whom he knew had heard the whole exchange. "What say you, Fíli?"

With his hand still keeping pressure on his brother's chest, Fíli narrowed his eyes at Gandalf. He was about to answer when Dwalin cut in: "It's not the lad's decision!"

"He is an heir of Durin and he speaks for his uncle!" Gandalf snapped back, then repeated: "What say you?"

Fíli could feel Kíli slowly slipping away, his body trembling beneath his hand, and the look on Bilbo's face told him Thorin was in a similarly dire state. "We ride for Rivendell," he said finally, trying to keep the conviction in his voice. "Please," he added quietly, the hint of a child about him, when he saw many distraught Dwarvish faces. "I just want to help my family."

Gandalf nodded, a sigh of relief escaping his lips, then looked to Elrond. Elrond let out a low whistle; suddenly a dappled grey horse without a rider broke from the Elvish ranks and cantered to his side. "Eldia lost her rider some time ago, but she often follows us from the stable when we ride out," he spoke sadly to Gandalf. "She will carry you and Thorin back to Rivendell. I will take Kíli, and my men will each accompany a dwarf."

As Fíli expected, uproar came from the dwarves. Gandalf ignored this and quickly mounted the dappled horse, with Bilbo and Elrond helping him seat the unconscious Thorin in front of him. Bilbo had only just let go of Thorin when an elf appeared behind him and, hooking his hands under Bilbo's shoulders, hoisted him easily onto the back of another elf's horse. The same elf then turned to Dwalin.

"Try it, and I will bury my axe between your eyes," Dwalin growled, brandishing his axe to make his point.

Fíli saw this, hearing blood surging in his ears: Kíli and Thorin's blood, Durin's blood. His hand leaving Kíli for the first time, he stood up and stared at Dwalin. "Please, Dwalin," he said loudly and firmly. "There isn't time for this. We must help Thorin and Kíli."

Fíli was as shocked as everyone else when Dwalin gave a stiff nod. He turned to the elf. "Alright, on yer horse, pretty boy, I'll ride." Still looking wary of Dwalin's axe, the elf mounted his horse and Dwalin pulled himself up behind him.

Following Dwalin's example, the dwarves all hastily mounted. It wasn't without some difficulty; Bofur and Ori had to go around helping others to climb onto the back of the elvish horses, and Bombur proved particularly challenging, but soon all were mounted except Fíli and Kíli. Fíli's gaze was wary when Elrond approached him with his horse, but the elf's gentle smile was surprisingly comforting. He put a hand on Kíli's forehead and spoke to him softly in Elvish. "I will be careful with him," he murmured, looking to Fíli. Fíli nodded, then helped Elrond mount his horse with Kíli sat before him. Elrond then looked behind him and called out: "Elladan!" Another tall, dark elf approached them; he looked curiously like Elrond. "My son," Elrond explained, "He will accompany you to Rivendell."

Elladan graciously offered a hand down to Fíli. Fíli took it uncertainly, wondering if he meant shake it, but suddenly found himself being hauled onto the back of Elladan's horse. He almost let go of the saddle when the horse suddenly lurched forward, following the rest of the company with Elrond and Gandalf leading them. Fíli gripped the saddle tighter, trying not to look down and see how far from the ground he actually was. His eyes followed Elrond and Gandalf, catching glimpses of Thorin and Kíli, then he closed his eyes and prayed that they wouldn't be too late.

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**A/N: I'm sorry I can't promise regular updates, but I hope I won't keep you hanging too long!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Happy New Year guys! Firstly, I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and favourited – your response has blown me away and given me the best start to 2013. Secondly, a note on pairings: there aren't going to be any explicit pairings in 'Family Tree', but this is an equal-opportunity fic; I don't mind my readers shipping who they want – hopefully there will be enough angst and fluff and tension to keep everyone satisfied! Now, on with Chapter Two...**

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"_Now that you're here though, don't you feel somehow undone?"_

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Fíli had already felt sick to the stomach before he was pulled onto the back of Elladan's horse, and so the short journey to Rivendell did nothing for his nerves. He gripped the saddle so tightly that the dried, red-brown blood cracked over the knuckles of his left hand, revealing white skin beneath. It was the hand he had held against Kíli's chest in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of blood. Fíli's eyes moved from his knuckles to the front of their new company, trying to glimpse Kíli; he caught sight of his brother's limp arm before Elrond turned abruptly into a narrow passage-way between the towering formations of rock. The path was wider than the tunnel in which the dwarves had taken brief shelter, but would admit only one horse at a time, and so the company fell into single file. In the impaired light of the passage, Fíli felt the jaunty movements of Elladan's horse more acutely, and he wished he had Daisy back.

Light suddenly broke out ahead, and as each horse passed out of the dark, a hush fell over the company. Entering the valley, Fíli peered around Elladan and let out an audible gasp. Rivendell, glistening in the afternoon light, was a spectrum of red and gold and green; a rare gem nestled into the nook of the mountain, surrounded by silver ribbons of waterfalls. Their roar reached Fíli's ears and sounded like the wind.

Sensing his rider's awe, Elladan said with a small smile: "Welcome to the Valley of Imladris, Master Fíli."

The company followed the mountain path and soon reached Rivendell. Riding into the paved square, the horses clustered, and Elladan moved his horse to the front of the group to join his father. Fíli could now get a proper look at his brother, but what he saw made his heart sink. Kíli sat limply against Elrond, his bloodied head lolling forward on his chest, which was covered in dark blood that had spread out from the wound under his collarbone. Thorin appeared to have fared even worse; Gandalf kept a firm hold of him, and the wizard's grey robes bore several black smudges of blood.

"Lindir!" Elrond's voice tore Fíli's gaze away from Thorin.

An elf, clad in deep purple, had arrived to greet them. The shock clearly registered on his face as he looked from Kíli to Thorin. "My Lord Elrond?" he said uncertainly, tensing when he caught Fíli's eye.

"Send word ahead to our healers, tell them we have two very sick dwarves on the way," Elrond ordered. When Lindir appeared reluctant to leave, his gaze moving slowly from dwarf to dwarf, Elrond added: "Now, Lindir!"

The elf seemed to regain himself; with a quick nod he turned on his heel and rushed back up the steps as if he couldn't wait to get away. Fíli was the first dwarf to dismount, he landed hard on the paving stones, and went quickly to Elrond's side. The rest of Thorin's company returned their feet to the ground with relief, their faces bearing a hint of green; the ride had clearly been uncomfortable for all. They crowded around Kíli and Thorin, helping Elrond and Gandalf dismount.

Elrond took Kíli up easily in his arms, then looked behind him. "Elladan, Elrohir," he called, then spoke in Elvish, indicating Gandalf and Thorin.

Fíli did a double-take when another elf came to Elladan's side; there was no mistaking him to be anyone other than Elladan's brother. The two elves gently lifted Thorin between them, then followed their father who had set off up the steps, carrying the younger dwarf. Fíli fought to keep up with Elrond's long strides, hearing his heartbeat once again in his ears. He turned to check the other dwarves were following, and as he did he heard Glóin mutter: "Thorin will never forgive us for this." A lead weight dropped in Fíli's stomach and he swallowed hard; he knew Glóin was right. But then he felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned to see Bofur smiling at him.

"He'll get over it," Bofur whispered. "Don't you worry, lad."

Fíli tried to smile in return, but he couldn't manage it. Elrond led them through a labyrinth of beautifully carved wooden passage-ways until they reached a room away from the sounds of the waterfalls. The room held four beds with the whitest sheets Fíli had ever seen, and shelves ran the full length of the walls, holding an array of books and jars and vials. As they entered three elves, joined by Lindir, came to meet them. The only woman of the group, an elf with dark hair falling to her waist who bore a striking resemblance to Elrond's sons, stepped forward first and Elrond froze.

"Arwen," he said, failing to mask his surprise. "This is not a task for you."

"I have the powers to heal, this _is _my task," Arwen replied curtly.

Elrond moved into the room, Fíli following close behind him, and carefully placed Kíli on the furthest bed from the door. Elladan and Elrohir settled Thorin onto the bed closest to them, so that uncle and nephew were at a diagonal to each other. Arwen came to Elrond's side and they began a heated discussion in Elvish. Fíli tried to follow their facial expressions in the vain hope of understanding them, but their conversation was cut short by a sharp crack. Fíli looked over to Thorin's bed to see one of the healers holding half an arrow; on trying to remove it from Thorin's leg he had snapped the shaft, leaving the tip still embedded in Thorin's thigh. Elrond let out an exasperated sigh and moved to Thorin's bed, though he had to weave through a crowd of dwarves to get there. After speaking stern words to the offending healer, he turned to address the room.

"We cannot work in such chaos," he said gravely. "Lindir, speak with our kitchens and have them prepare dinner for our guests, and ensure sleeping quarters are ready for them after their meal." He surveyed Thorin's company. "If you would kindly follow Lindir..."

Lindir's look of discomfort returned, but he gave a short bow to Lord Elrond and disappeared from the room. The dwarves were not quick to follow him and glanced at each other uncertainly.

"I... I would rather stay," Fíli spoke up, looking to Elrond. "I will not leave my brother and my uncle." He knew he was hardly setting an example, but no power in all of Middle Earth was going to tear him away from Kíli at that moment.

Elrond returned an assenting nod, and Gandalf gave Ori a nudge with the end of his staff as he was closest to the door. "Come along now, Master Ori, and the rest of you, do not refuse Lord Elrond's hospitality."

Ori, flanked by his brothers, was the first to leave the sickroom, followed by Glóin and Óin, then Bifur and Bombur, with Bofur tugging on a reluctant Bilbo's arm. Dwalin and Balin lingered the longest, and Dwalin turned to Fíli.

"Do you want me to stay, laddie?" Dwalin asked gruffly. It was only when he cracked his tattooed knuckles that Fíli realised he was offering his services as a body-guard.

"Oh, er, no thank you, Dwalin," Fíli replied, his voice faltering. "I think we can manage."

Dwalin only gave a grunt in response, glared at all in the room for a final time, then stalked out with his brother at his side. It took Fíli a moment to register what had just happened... On their way to Bag End, Kíli had never stopped talking about 'Mister Dwalin', and the two brothers had long been in awe of this famed warrior. Dwalin had hardly spoken to Fíli on their journey, and never once asked him a question before... Now he was treating him like an equal, or more than that...

Fíli was dragged from his thoughts by a soft groan from Kíli. With Elrond and Gandalf attending to Thorin, Arwen had begun to treat Kíli's injuries. She had opened his coat and shirt and was inspecting the wound left by the arrow in his chest. Fíli felt his stomach knot and unknot itself as he stared at his brother in this miserable state. He reached out and took Kíli's hand in his own, squeezing it and closing his eyes, he murmured: "Can you save him?"

"I promise you we will do all in our power, Fíli, son of Dís," Arwen replied gently. "But I do not think your brother will abandon you so easily."

Fíli opened his eyes, studying the elf in shock, unsure of how she knew who he was or how to answer her. Instead he looked away, to the other corner of the room, where another healer, Elrond, and Gandalf were leaning over Thorin. They had removed his furs, coat, and shirt to get a closer look at the wounds left by the warg's teeth across his abdomen. That was when Fíli noticed the key hanging on a chain around Thorin's neck; the key to a secret door in the Lonely Mountain, the cornerstone of their quest, handed down through generations. Gandalf reached out and carefully removed the chain and key from around Thorin's neck, he looked up to see Fíli watching him, then stored it quickly away in his robes.

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Fíli focused his gaze on the flames flickering in the grate on the other side of the room. When darkness had fallen, the elves had lit a fire and posted several candles around the room, which cast eerie shadows, so long they looked like swords, on the walls. Settled in a chair by Kíli's bed, Fíli hadn't moved at all that evening, and the disastrous events of the afternoon seemed so very long ago. Concerned that his brother was too far away from the fire, Fíli had sought out more blankets, and now Kíli lay snugly in his bed, with his chest and shoulder bandaged and the blood wiped from his face so that Fíli almost recognised him. His broken nose had been cracked back into place, and the deep gash running the length of his forehead had been cleaned and stitched. Thorin lay still in his bed by the door, his broken arm in a sling, and his thigh and abdomen wrapped in tight bandages. He appeared to have been dealt a more severe blow from the orc's mace than Kíli, and two deep, red lines ran parallel across his face, from his cheek, across his nose to his forehead, and across his chin to his cheek.

Fíli started when there was a knock on the door; he hadn't had time to reply when Bilbo entered, carrying a steaming bowl. The hobbit smiled at him meekly as he approached Kíli's bed. "I thought you could use some food," he explained, holding the bowl out to him.

Taking the bowl, Fíli caught a whiff of familiar cooking. "This doesn't smell like Elvish food," he said, managing his first smile of the evening.

"Well, the others didn't seem too impressed by Lord Elrond's banquet," Bilbo admitted. "So Bofur and Bombur threw a stew together... Though I'm not so sure they should have lit a fire on the wooden floor of our room."

After a moment's pause, Bilbo turned to leave, but Fíli stopped him: "Please, stay."

"I wouldn't be disturbing you?" Bilbo asked doubtfully.

"Well, Kíli and Thorin haven't been the most lively company this evening," Fíli smiled, then felt a twinge of pain in his chest for making a joke at his family's expense. Hoping Bilbo hadn't read the pain in his expression, he turned to the stew, poking at the meat with his spoon.

"You're not hungry?" Bilbo asked, after a few more moments of silence, sitting down on the opposite side of Kíli's bed.

"No," Fíli sighed, giving up pretences and depositing the bowl on Kíli's bedside table. "What I really want is my pipe... But the healers have asked me not to smoke in here; they say it would be bad for Kíli and Thorin."

"How very odd," Bilbo replied, musing on this revelation. "But if you want your pipe, I don't mind staying here whilst you join the others."

"Thank you," Fíli said warmly, trying to hide the ache that even the mere thought of separation had brought on. "But I don't really want to leave them... Not just yet."

Bilbo nodded, understanding. The two fell into a long silence. Bilbo was about to suggest his leaving, when Fíli said quietly: "Our mother didn't want us to come, you know. It took weeks of arguing before she gave in."

Bilbo leaned forward, but didn't say anything, sensing Fíli wasn't finished speaking.

"It wasn't just us she was worried about," Fíli continued, glancing over at Thorin's bed. "She said to me: "Fíli, your uncle has had a hard life, don't you and Kíli go making it any harder for him."" Fíli closed his eyes and felt the hint of saltwater sting at them. "I was supposed to be looking after both of them... But I suppose this isn't the first time I've failed Kíli."

When Fíli didn't look like he could go on, Bilbo whispered a gentle "Tell me."

"It was when we were children, back in the Blue Mountains," Fíli explained. "Mother put me in charge of Kíli, told me not to let him leave my sight... So, of course, I suggested we play a game of hide and seek. But Kíli found his way to the smithy and a sword had been left out to cool by the forge. He couldn't reach the handle so he wrapped his hand around the blade."

Fíli reached out and slowly turned his brother's right hand towards Bilbo; there were two white scars of raised skin running the length of Kíli's palm. "Half the dwarves in the Blue Mountains heard his screams. Mother was beyond furious. I ran away and hid in the store room larder, squeezing myself under the bottom shelf... It was Thorin who found me. But he wasn't angry and he didn't try to drag me out. He just sat down on the floor and talked me round. When I finally crept out he pulled me into his lap and held me whilst I cried... That was the last decent conversation I had with my uncle. Since then he's always been so distant with me."

Bilbo followed Fíli's gaze, his eyes resting on Thorin. "None of this is your fault... You do know that, don't you?"

Fíli's gaze moved back to Kíli. "It's kind of you to say so."

Sensing Fíli's need to be alone, Bilbo rose from his chair. "I best be going," he murmured. "The others all send their good wishes."

"Thank them and send mine in return," Fíli replied, but his mind was already far away and he never saw Bilbo leave.

It was true he and Kíli had been so desperate to join their uncle on his quest, but now that they had, Fíli felt an emptiness and an unravelling inside himself... He had never expected any of this to happen. How would he face his mother? Sitting in the darkened room with his brother and his uncle, he had never felt so alone. But part of this was a familiar feeling... He knew, and had always felt, that Thorin preferred Kíli over him. Jealousy begun in childhood had only been rekindled on this quest for Erebor; he had not missed the in-jokes they shared, or failed to notice the time Thorin spent helping Kíli practice his swordsmanship. He had tried to convince himself this was because Thorin thought Kíli needed all the help he could get, but he had never been sure. As the first-born son, Fíli knew he was Thorin's heir, and had carried that weight ever since he could remember, but he couldn't help wondering if Thorin wished Kíli had his brother's place.

Fíli was dragged from his thoughts by a soft groan from Thorin. Looking up he saw that his uncle's breathing had become heavy and laboured, and a sweat had broken out on his forehead. Rushing to his side, Fíli put a hand on his uncle's shoulder. "Thorin?" he breathed.

"Kíli!" Thorin gasped out, but then his chest fell, and Thorin breathed no more.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys! Just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who returned for Chapter Two and a massive wave and hello to all my new readers. Here's an update, sooner than I expected, but I was being far too productive with my dissertation for my liking... Enjoy!**

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"_You can't feed your body on misunderstandings of love."_

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"Help! Please, somebody, help!" Fíli called out desperately.

He shook Thorin's shoulders, but the older dwarf's chest refused to rise again, and his mouth was still slightly agape with his last breath. Fíli felt his fingers quivering as he withdrew them from his uncle's lifeless form and his heart was throwing itself against his ribcage in protest. His throat feeling dry and raw, Fíli was about to cry out again when suddenly he heard footsteps in the passage, and Elrond and Gandalf swept into the room.

"What is it?" Elrond asked urgently, coming to Thorin's bed and standing on the opposite side to Fíli.

"He just... stopped breathing," Fíli whispered, his voice cracking.

Elrond placed a hand on Thorin's sweat-soaked forehead, then turned to Gandalf at his side. "Mithrandir?" he murmured.

Gandalf swiftly took Elrond's place. With one hand hovering over Thorin's forehead and the other clutching Thorin's hand, he began to speak some kind of incantation, his voice low and deep. Fíli didn't recognise the language, though he hardly heard any of it, distraught as he was, with his eyes on Thorin and his ears buzzing with white noise. Gandalf slowly moved his hand over Thorin's pale face and all of a sudden there was a spluttering as Thorin began to breathe again. After a few pants and gasps, the dwarf's breathing grew easier, though his eyes remained closed. Gandalf straightened up, satisfied. Fíli let himself exhale, which turned into a sigh of relief. Closing his eyes, he pinched the top of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.

"I will send for one of our healers," Elrond said quietly. "They should not be left alone at night... Unless you would like to stay, Gandalf?"

As Elrond and Gandalf continued speaking, Fíli opened his eyes and studied Thorin. Relieved as he was, the troubling thoughts he had been having before the incident bloomed once more in his mind, black as smoke, casting a dark expression over his features. Thorin's cry for Kíli rang in his ears.

Fíli's tormented silence didn't go unnoticed by Gandalf. "What troubles you, Fíli?" the wizard asked carefully.

Starting at the sound of his own name, Fíli looked up at Gandalf. Without weighing up the consequences of answering, he replied: "Before Thorin... Before this happened... He called out for Kíli." And with that Fíli left the room, seeking out the large balcony through a doorway opposite Thorin's bed.

The balcony, partly covered by a wooden roof, housed two long stone benches and looked out towards Rivendell's distant western waterfalls. Fíli took a seat on the bench furthest from the sickroom door and pulled out his pipe. He knew he shouldn't have said anything to Gandalf; he had acted rashly and no doubt the wizard wouldn't let it go so easily. But he was exhausted and his worry over Kíli and Thorin was already taking its toll on him. He had just managed to light his pipe and taken his first, much-needed drag when footsteps sounded on the balcony's stone floor. Gandalf came and joined Fíli on the bench, though he wisely kept his distance and sat down on the opposite end. Fíli glanced at Gandalf, but mostly kept his eyes on the waterfalls, only just visible in the dark, which now seemed to run inky black and crash into blue.

"Your uncle loves you, Fíli," Gandalf said finally, taking out his own pipe. "You should never doubt that."

Fíli looked across at Gandalf, finding the wizard's alert blue eyes fixed on him. Taking a nervous puff on his pipe, he murmured: "I... I know..." He was silent for a long time, but then he added: "Though I've grown used to others mistaking Kíli for his son, his heir... I look like our father... Kíli looks like our mother... like Thorin... like a real heir of Durin."

Gandalf sighed; sometimes he forgot how young Fíli really was, but now this vulnerable ramble had reminded him. "What utter nonsense," he said, half-scoldingly. "Thorin wouldn't care if you looked like a mountain troll; you are his nephew and his heir... And if it had been you with an arrow in your chest he would have called out your name instead of Kíli's just now."

Fíli stared at Gandalf, begrudgingly finding some truth in his words. He and Kíli were used to being reprimanded by the wizard; for putting beetles in Bilbo's knapsack, for hiding Bofur's hat in a fox's den overnight resulting in a torn, smellier hat, an angry Bofur, and an angrier fox... But the look in Gandalf's eyes now was curiously gentle, almost sad. Fíli found himself nodding in reluctant acceptance of all Gandalf had said.

After another contemplative puff on his pipe, Fíli couldn't stop himself from asking another question that was playing on his mind. "Why did Thorin stop breathing like that?" he murmured, silently dreading the answer.

"Thorin is tired," Gandalf replied simply, after a pause. "Far more tired than any of you may realise... Sometimes he loses the will needed to carry on, and he needs a little nudge to remind him why he must."

Fíli remained silent, his gaze lingering on Gandalf. "You want to know why I stopped you from joining the fray out on the plains," the wizard said quietly, without turning to look at Fíli.

Fíli wasn't startled; he had grown used to Gandalf's seeming telepathy. "Yes," he said slowly.

"If Erebor is reclaimed, the kingdom will need a king," came Gandalf's answer. "I could not willingly let you fall with your uncle and brother engaged in combat."

"What?" Fíli cried, and suddenly he was on his feet. "My brother had an arrow in his chest and my uncle was alone on the battlefield, yet you stopped me going to their aid for the sake of a crown?"

"It is your crown, Fíli," Gandalf said, undeterred by the fire in Fíli's eyes. "You should not treat your heritage so lightly."

"Kíli and Thorin are my heritage!" Fíli replied, with a growl. "I value them far more than all the gold of Erebor..." Gandalf was about to speak, but Fíli cut him off: "And you seem so set upon Thorin's death... Do you know something I don't?"

"I know the lengths Thorin will go to for the sake of this quest," Gandalf answered calmly. "I know he will gladly pay for Erebor with his life."

Before Fíli could reply, Gandalf produced Thorin's key from his grey robes. "This should be yours for the moment," he said, holding it out to Fíli.

"I... I don't want it," Fíli stuttered, and mentally added: I don't want any of it! I just want Kíli and Thorin to be well again...

"This key represents the legacy of your people, as a king –"

"I'm not a king!" Fíli snapped, then stormed back into the sickroom.

He was glad that Gandalf didn't immediately follow him. Sitting at Kíli's bedside, Fíli buried his head in his hands. It was like Gandalf was trying to drop a tonne of rocks onto his back. Fíli had always been aware of his birthright, but until now it had been something that was so far away, as distant as the Lonely Mountain. And Kíli had made the burden seem so much lighter; in childhood it had been a joke and on this journey it had been a snide remark... He couldn't cope without Kíli at his side, punching his arm and calling him 'your highness' whenever Thorin wasn't around... Looking at Kíli between his fingers, Fíli silently began to plead with him: Please wake up, Kíli... I can't do this without you... Please don't make me do this on my own...

* * *

When Kíli did wake up the following morning, he wasn't subtle or quiet about it. There was no soft groan or fluttering of eyelids; he simply sat bolt upright in his bed and let out such a roar that Ori fell backwards off his stool. Hearing a somewhat altered version of the incident the night before, Bilbo, Bofur, and Ori had come to cheer Fíli up and keep him company. As Bilbo and Bofur helped Ori to his feet, Kíli began to frustratedly paw at his bed sheets, as if searching for his weapons.

Fíli caught hold of his hands. "Kíli! Look at me, it's alright!" he said gently, unable to stop himself smiling.

Kíli stopped struggling as recognition dawned on his face, he returned a dopey grin.

"That was quite a re-entrance into the land o' the living," Bofur commented, making Kíli turn to see who else was gathered by his bed.

"I feel like I drank far too much ale last night," Kíli groaned, his hand reaching up to his head. Noticing the nasal quality in his voice, his hand moved down to his nose and he flinched. "My nose..." he gasped.

"Sorry little brother, now thanks to that orc I'm the prettier one," Fíli said, making the others snigger. Kíli's eyes widened, so Fíli punched his arm. "I'm only kidding! Your nose will be fine once the swelling goes down."

"Though at one point we did think you were a goner!" Ori added, rather unhelpfully.

Fíli felt his stomach twist uncomfortably, but Kíli was quick to lighten the mood: "Don't be stupid, I wouldn't die and leave Fíli to tie his own braids!"

"He... He's delirious," Fíli said, his cheeks colouring as he looked at Bilbo. "I've been tying my own braids for years!" Though he didn't mind a joke at his expense, he was just happy to have Kíli back. He was about to make a tongue-in-cheek retort when he realised Kíli's gaze had wandered over to Thorin's bed, where their uncle lay, bandaged, bruised and unmoving.

"Thorin," Kíli murmured, his expression fearful. "Did he get hurt because of me?"

Fíli opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. Seeing his struggle, Bofur jumped in with: "No, lad. He got hurt because of a warg and an orc's mace."

Kíli didn't seem wholly convinced. "Is he going to be alright?"

"He'll be fine," Fíli said, before anyone else could answer. He stared at Bilbo, Bofur, and Ori across the bed, begging them not to contradict him.

"Aye," Bofur agreed, there was some concern lurking in his voice, but Kíli didn't seem to pick up on it. "Of course he will be. Your uncle's made of tough stuff."

"And Lord Elrond is one of the best healers in all of Middle Earth," Bilbo chimed in, speaking for the first time.

"Lord Elrond?" Kíli asked, raising an eyebrow. He suddenly looked around him, realising he had been forgetting an important question. "Where are we?"

"In Rivendell, Master Kíli," came the answer from the doorway, and Lord Elrond himself, followed by Arwen, stepped into the room. They both smiled genially at Kíli.

Kíli's mouth fell open and stayed open until Fíli nudged him gently in the ribs.

"How are you feeling, Kíli?" Arwen asked kindly.

Kíli didn't reply; he had just realised his shirt was hanging open, revealing his bandaged chest. He began to hastily fasten the buttons into the wrong holes.

"Kíli," Fíli whispered. "Answer Lady Arwen."

"Oh... Erm, quite well, my lady," Kíli replied, tripping over his words. "...Apart from the fact that I'm absolutely starving."

Kíli had always been a dwarf to think of his stomach in times of distress or when he had nothing better to say. An hour later, though, he was throwing up violently into a bucket between his knees. Fíli soothingly rubbed his brother's back with one hand and kept the bucket firmly in place with the other.

Arwen and Elrond were watching the proceedings with equally perplexed expressions. "I don't understand, all I gave him was the honeyed meal you requested," Arwen murmured.

Fíli looked across the bed to Bofur, who was also steadying the bucket. This guilty exchange was not lost on Elrond. "Am I right in thinking more than one kitchen is involved in this?" he said, with a sigh.

"We may have had a celebratory fry-up," Bofur admitted. "But the lad was so hungry... We couldn't leave him out."

Kíli lay back in his bed with a groan, his face taking on a greenish hue. Fíli wiped his sweaty forehead with a damp cloth.

Bofur pulled the bucket from the bed and turned to Elrond, who responded only by arching his eyebrows. "Er, right... I'll just go get rid of this," Bofur said, attempting to appease Elrond with a smile, then whisked the bucket away.

As soon as Bofur was gone, Kíli let out another moan, lurched upright, and then promptly threw up into Fíli's lap.

* * *

"I don't know why you're so desperate for your pipe, Kíli. You've only just learnt to smoke it without choking," Fíli sighed. He had just returned to the sickroom after changing into clean clothes.

Now he was done throwing up and his face was no longer green, Kíli was demanding his pipe. "Come on," he whined. "When did you start caring so much about Elves and their rules?"

"It wouldn't be good for you," Fíli replied firmly. "And the smoke wouldn't be good for Thorin either." He looked over to Thorin's bed and felt his chest tighten.

"Please, Fíli," Kíli said, in one last ditch attempt at changing his brother's mind. His eyes had grown so wide and puppyish, and his expression was clearly asking Fíli what had happened to his sense of humour.

"Oh, alright," Fíli sighed. "But let's go outside – there's a balcony just through that door."

Kíli looked uncertainly down the room.

"You don't think you can walk?" Fíli asked.

Kíli shook his head, ready to admit defeat.

"Right, well I'll have to carry you then," Fíli smiled. "It's been decades since I gave you a piggy-back ride." He turned around.

"You sure you can carry me?" Kíli asked, shuffling uncertainly towards Fíli. "I'm a lot heavier than I was."

"But just as stupid," Fíli grinned, earning a punch in the ribs from Kíli. But still Kíli moved forward and, gripping Fíli's shoulders, let him loop an arm around each of his legs.

Progress was slow but steady. They were halfway to the door when Gandalf entered the room. "Ah! Making an escape so soon, Kíli?" he chuckled.

Kíli laughed too, but Fíli avoided the wizard's eye; they hadn't spoken since the night before out on the balcony.

"Fíli's taking me to the balcony so I can have my pipe," Kíli explained.

"In that case, I shall join you," Gandalf smiled, ignoring any warning looks he received from Fíli.

The wizard led the way, Fíli fighting to keep up with his pace. Gandalf settled on the stone bench closest to the door, and Fíli carefully dropped Kíli down next to him. Although he didn't need any help with his pipe, Kíli let his brother light it for him, sensing some unspoken tension in Fíli's eyes. When all three had their pipes lit, there was a good deal of silence while Kíli took in his surroundings, his eyes filled with awe... But, unfortunately, the waterfalls didn't distract him for long enough.

"Is Thorin going to die?" Kíli asked suddenly.

"Kíli!" Fíli hissed in warning, but Kíli ignored him.

"Is he, Gandalf?" Kíli pressed.

Gandalf took a long time to answer, too long for Fíli's liking. "Lord Elrond and his healers have done their best for him, now all we can do is wait."

Kíli mused on this answer for some time, but then murmured: "If... If he does die, does that mean Fíli would be the leader of our company as the rightful kind of Erebor?"

Fíli couldn't believe what was happening. He wondered if the balcony was cursed... And he didn't want Kíli to side with Gandalf over the issue. Getting to his feet, Fíli went over and stood at the edge of the terrace, his back to Kíli and Gandalf. "Thorin isn't going to die," he said, though he knew his voice had little conviction.

"I think you would be a good king," Kíli said quietly.

"Just shut up, Kíli!" Fíli said, whirling around to face him. "You know nothing!"

Kíli only stared at him with a bewildered expression, the hurt etched across his face, making a deeper mark than any orc's mace ever could.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Fíli whispered, regaining himself. He couldn't believe he had snapped like that, especially at Kíli of all people, and he instantly regretted his words. "We should get you back inside." He moved towards Kíli, but Kíli shrank away from him. Feeling Gandalf's eyes on him, Fíli sighed. "Kíli, I mean it... I really am sorry... I'm just tired, that's all. You've had me worried sick."

Kíli nodded, the hurt slowly fading from his face. "Alright, just don't worry too much," he said, attempting a smile. "Or you'll turn into Mother."

"Durin forbid that should happen," Fíli replied, a shaky smile appearing. "But come on, let's go back inside... You can give me a couple of extra kicks in the ribs on the way."

He turned so that Kíli could climb onto his back once again. They had just reached the doorway when Kíli said: "You know you sounded like Thorin just then?"

Fíli didn't know whether or not this was intended as a compliment, but still he could feel Gandalf smiling behind him.

* * *

**A/N: Please do let me know what you think! I'm driving myself to distraction with uni work and my teaching application *plays violin* and your reviews really do make my day!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello everyone – sorry for the delay with this chapter, unfortunately real life intervened this week. Thank you for bearing with me! Here's Chapter Four with some added Thorin hurt for Donner and annah, and Autumn please don't hesitate to leave me long, rambling reviews – there's nothing I love more!**

* * *

"_...Your mother will worry half to death at day break."_

* * *

"You're expecting too much of the bairn, Gandalf," Balin said with a sigh, edging closer to the fire. "I told Thorin that Fíli and Kíli were too young for this quest."

Gandalf didn't reply, he continued to draw on his pipe, his eyes reflecting the fire before him. He had joined the dwarves in their allotted quarters on the east corridor, and with Thorin's key weighing heavily in his pocket, he had related Fíli's outbursts to Balin and Glóin. Dwalin was tending to his axes in the corner, but Gandalf knew he was listening. The rest of the company had either retired to bed or were finishing supper at the other end of the veranda.

"I told him too," Glóin said, when it was clear Gandalf wasn't going to break the silence. "There was no way I was letting my Gimli come along, but when he found out Fíli and Kíli were joining us I had to deal with slamming doors for weeks!"

Balin smiled, remembering the young dwarf's wrath. "As I said, you're expecting too much, Gandalf," he murmured, with a note of finality, hoping to end the conversation.

"Though you do have a habit of entrusting great things to the young and the unwilling," Dwalin commented from the corner, looking pointedly over at Bilbo who was helping Bifur and Bombur clear up the dishes from supper.

"I would call it faith in the small things," Gandalf said wryly. "My habit is seeing greatness in people who cannot see it in themselves."

Dwalin returned to his axes, muttering about Bilbo indeed being a 'small thing'.

Balin shifted in his seat, looking from Dwalin to Gandalf. "How much do the elves know of our quest?" It was a question he had wanted to ask the wizard for some time.

"They have gained no information from me," Gandalf replied. "Although I am sure Lord Elrond suspects something. I have been playing for time whilst –"

Gandalf stopped when Lindir entered the room. The tall elf looked noticeably tense as he surveyed the company, though this was probably due to the expression on Dwalin's face as he began to sharpen his axe.

"Mithrandir," Lindir said quietly. "Lord Elrond wishes to speak with you."

"Ah, our time may be up," Gandalf whispered to Balin as he got to his feet. "Lead the way, Lindir."

Gandalf and Lindir had only just left the room when more footsteps sounded in the corridor. Balin assumed Gandalf had forgotten something, but when he turned he found Fíli standing in the doorway. Fíli felt the ripple of concern his presence spread through the room; suddenly Balin and Glóin were on their feet, and a silence fell over the dish-washing party.

"Fíli? Is everything alright?" Balin asked, his brow furrowed.

"Is it Thorin?" Bilbo said, moving forward, still clutching a saucer.

"No, no... Everything is fine," Fíli replied, embarrassed that his first appearance in the company's quarters had caused such unease. "I... I just needed a break."

A collective sigh of relief seemed to rise into the air. Balin clapped a hand on Fíli's shoulder. "Of course, laddie. Come sit by the fire." He steered Fíli into the seat held by Gandalf only a few moments before. "Bombur, do we have any of the salted pork left?"

Bombur quickly began to root through the collection of plates loaded by the wash basin. "It's alright, Bombur, I've already eaten," Fíli said, attempting a smile, though his face still looked a little pale and tired.

"Will you at least have a drink, lad?" Dwalin asked. "The Elvish ale isn't that bad."

Fíli noticed two enormous barrels of ale stored at the other end of the room. "How did you get the ale?"

"Nori, er, _acquired_ it from the kitchens for us," Balin answered.

Fíli couldn't help but smile; whenever anyone told you that Nori had 'acquired' something you always mentally added 'without permission'. "Go on then, I'll have an ale."

He began to rise, but Dwalin was up before him. "Don't worry, I'll get it – I need one myself. Balin? Glóin?" The older dwarves nodded.

"I'm sorry I didn't come before," Fíli said, looking contrite. "But I've only just got Kíli off to sleep."

"He always was a blighter to put to bed," Balin smiled. "The both of you drove poor Dís up the wall, but then Thorin would come and read you a story and you'd drop right off." Balin's expression darkened. "How is Thorin?"

Fíli was quiet for a moment, weighing up how best to answer. "He... He's had another bout of sweating," he said, deciding on an honest approach. "I think he's getting worse."

"Or maybe he's just being his stubborn self and refusing to respond to Elvish medicine," Balin said with a wink, putting a comforting hand on Fíli's shoulder.

Dwalin arrived, expertly balancing four tankards of ale between his fingers, and handed them out. Fíli drank deeply, and couldn't deny that the warmth the ale spread in his stomach seemed to take the edge off the evening. "I just wonder if I should send word to Mother... Let her know what's happened."

Balin set his tankard down at his feet. "Your mother will be worried enough as it is, lad," he said slowly. "Maybe it's best if you don't give her more reason to worry... At least wait and see if Thorin's condition improves."

"And if you tell her she'll probably march all the way to Rivendell and drag you and Kíli back to the Blue Mountains by your ears," Dwalin added slyly.

"Did you see Gandalf on your way here?" Balin asked, carefully changing the subject.

Fíli sensed this was a loaded question. The shadow that passed over his face told Balin he was right to ask. "No," Fíli answered simply. "Why?"

Balin glanced around the room. Dwalin had once again taken up Grasper and Keeper and begun to polish their heads. Glóin was preoccupied with his ale, and although the others pretended to be engrossed with their dishes, Balin knew everyone was listening intently.

"Gandalf told me about a little argument you two had," Balin said gently. Fíli opened his mouth to reply, but Balin jumped in with: "Now, I don't want to discuss the ins and outs of it... I just want to tell you a story."

Fíli tightened his grip on the tankard of ale. He had come to the company's quarters in an attempt to escape the sickroom and all the feelings of foreboding that went with it, but it seemed Gandalf was intent on ensuring that he couldn't run from any of it. However, Balin was still a comforting presence and he couldn't deny his curiosity. He nodded, urging him to continue.

"I was there the day you were born, laddie. I had to calm Thorin down as he paced in front of your mother's chambers, and when we heard you cry for the first time I can tell you there wasn't a prouder uncle in the whole of Middle Earth. Once Thorin got you in his arms we couldn't get him to put you down."

Balin's eyes were shining with the memory. Fíli found himself leaning forward, the rest of the company had given up pretences and were listening openly.

"You were born with a tiny crop of golden hair," Balin went on. "And Thorin said it was a sign that one day, with you at his side, he would reclaim Erebor and its treasures... He worried your mother half to death when he disappeared with you a few hours later. I found him standing on a balcony, cut out of the rock, high up in the mountains, looking out towards the East. With you balanced in one arm, he was pointing in the direction of the Lonely Mountain, promising you a kingdom... What I'm trying to say, Fíli, is that your uncle has always been so very proud of you, and he has never once doubted your suitability to one day take up his crown."

A murmur of agreement ran through the company. Fíli felt the corners of his eyes stinging with tears, but, aware that everyone was watching, he hastily reached up and wiped them away. "Thank you, Balin," he whispered, his voice feeling raw and strained with emotion. "I... I should be getting back to Kíli and Thorin."

"Aye, of course, lad," Balin said softly. "But you know where we are if you ever need us."

Fíli nodded and got to his feet, startled when everyone else rose too. He received a 'good night' from all in the room, and left with his heart feeling lighter than it had done for days. With Balin's words echoing in his ears, he didn't immediately return to the sickroom, but followed the corridor to Lord Elrond's chambers. As he expected, he bumped into Gandalf coming the other way.

"Ah, Fíli," the wizard said carefully. "Are you alright?"

"I want the key," Fíli said firmly. "I'm guessing you have the map too?"

"Yes," Gandalf replied, clearly suppressing a smile. Without another word he reached into the deep pockets of his grey robes and produced Thorin's key and the map of the Lonely Mountain.

Fíli hung the key around his neck and slipped it under his shirt, then slid the folded map into the inside pocket of his jacket so it lay over his heart. "Thank you," he said awkwardly, despite recent revelations he wasn't quite sure he was ready to forgive Gandalf just yet. He turned and began to walk away.

"Fíli," Gandalf called, and he stopped. "What made you change your mind?"

"Something Balin said," Fíli replied, and as he continued back down the corridor he realised this was probably what Gandalf had planned all along.

* * *

The next morning, something else Balin had said came back to Fíli: _"Or maybe he's just being his stubborn self and refusing to respond to Elvish medicine." _Thorin's condition did appear to be worsening and the dawn brought on another bout of sweating; as morning dew glistened on the leaves outside, beads of water had also appeared on Thorin's pale, clammy forehead, and he seemed to be breathing with difficulty. After watching his uncle's struggle for a few long moments, despairing at his inability to ease Thorin's pain, Fíli had an idea. He returned to the company's quarters and asked for Óin. Óin was the group's appointed healer and had saved many lives over the years; if Thorin wouldn't respond to Elvish medicine, maybe Dwarvish medicine would do the trick.

Óin came to the sickroom and discussed treatments with Lord Elrond, Arwen, and the other healers. This wasn't without some difficulty, with Óin's deafness causing some problems, but with the aid of his hearing funnel and Fíli as translator, they managed to share theories. Óin examined Thorin in a way familiar to Fíli – he and Kíli had often been sent to him with childhood sicknesses and cuts and bruises – but the elves were intrigued. They watched as the older dwarf tapped and flicked at Thorin's arms, chest and neck, as if he were sounding out the illness. He seemed to be taking invisible measurements with his fingers, and instead of laying his hearing funnel to Thorin's chest to listen, he seemed intent on placing it to his shoulder and hand. Finally Óin explained the herbs and roots he needed to make his medicines – many of them were of his own invention, and some were a synthesis of Dwarvish concoctions and the Elvish remedies he had just heard.

A party was formed to go out and gather the needed plants. Óin and the healers went on ahead and were then joined by Fíli and Kíli. Already bored with his sickroom surroundings, Kíli had moaned endlessly until Fíli finally agreed to let him join the healer expedition. Elrond provided a young mare, not yet fully grown, for their use. With Kíli properly dressed again, his shirt and coat fastened over his bandages, and seated upon the mare, Fíli took the reins and led them into the surrounding forest. It was a warm morning and the hour of fresh air and sunlight did both the brothers good. Fíli found himself feeling like his old self again, though he was ever aware of the key around his neck and the map pressing against his chest.

Once Óin was satisfied, the party returned to the sickroom. Gathered around Thorin's bed, the healers created medicines to Óin's specifications. Blessed thistle, mullein, and bugleweed were ground and mixed with peppermint oil to create a salve. Óin spread this on Thorin's chest and explained that it would help with his breathing and reduce sweating. A cloth was soaked in cold water, lavender oil, and nettle roots, and placed over Thorin's forehead to sooth his fever. Fíli stood a few feet from the bed and watched the healers at work, only hoping it would be enough.

After Óin had returned to the east corridor and the healers to their other tasks, Fíli was sitting by Thorin's bed as Arwen treated his flesh wounds. Once she had finished cleaning the deep gash in Thorin's thigh left by the arrow, she moved to the lacerations over his abdomen made by the warg's teeth. When she peeled away the white dressings, Fíli had to stifle a gasp, and he sensed Arwen was fighting to keep her expression neutral. One of the cuts just above Thorin's navel had become congealed and black; it definitely looked infected. Arwen ran a long, pale finger down the cut, examining it, and as she did so, Fíli saw a flash of something yellow-white.

"Wait," he murmured. "I... I think there's something still _in there_."

"I think you might be right," Arwen replied, slowly parting the skin of the cut so that the offending object was clearly visible.

"What's going on?" Kíli had been dosing on his bed, but now he was sitting up, craning his neck towards Thorin's bed.

Fíli shushed him and turned back to Arwen. "Can you get it out?"

"I hope so," Arwen answered, then rose from the bed and began searching through the shelves to her right. She recovered a small pair of silver tweezers. Handing a square of cloth to Fíli she swooped down on the cut, the tweezers glinting, like a heron's bill into water. Very slowly and with great precision, she removed the object. There was no mistaking what it was: a small, hooked warg's tooth. After inspecting it and holding it up to the light for a few moments, Arwen dropped it into Fíli's cloth. The two stared at each other, speechless.

"What was it? Let me see!" Kíli called from his bed, obviously annoyed at being left out of the proceedings.

With a sigh Fíli carried the cloth over to Kíli's bed, leaving Arwen to clean the cut. Kíli poked at the warg tooth, looking simultaneously disgusted and in awe. "It's not as impressive as Bifur's axe-head," was all he said.

* * *

The afternoon brought much improvement to Thorin's condition – he was responding far quicker to the herbs than Óin expected. With his body now free of warg's teeth and its impurities being drawn out by various ointments, Thorin's temperature had dropped and his face had taken on a much healthier hue. Everyone was in high spirits as the evening arrived. It was not yet dark enough for candles when Bofur and Bilbo entered the sickroom, they were usual visitors, but Fíli suspected that this time they had been drawn there by talk of Thorin's warg tooth.

Arwen was sitting on the edge of Thorin's bed, reapplying Óin's salve to his chest. Bilbo and Bofur nodded politely to her as they entered, but couldn't contain their excitement when they reached Kíli's bed.

"Where is it, Fíli?" Bofur asked, trying and failing to whisper. "Dwalin said it's over two inches long!"

"Hardly," Fíli grinned, handing over the tooth, swaddled in cloth.

Peering over Bofur and Bilbo's shoulders as they inspected the already infamous tooth, Fíli thought he saw Thorin stir. Narrowing his eyes at his uncle, a breath caught in his throat when Thorin's eyelids fluttered. In that moment he knew what was going to happen, he knew Arwen was far too close, but he didn't have time to shout out a warning before Thorin awoke with a roar. Startled, but with her healer reflexes still intact, Arwen tried to calm Thorin, reaching for his shoulders. Again, Fíli didn't have time to warn Arwen of her mistake before Thorin's uninjured arm shot out and struck her in the stomach, pushing her away. Arwen staggered back, tripping on the bottom of her dress and ripping the fabric. With a string of insults and obscenities barked in Khuzdul, Thorin leapt out of bed, but only managed one step before he collapsed onto his knees, overcome with pain.

Fíli rushed to his uncle's side and dropped to his knees in front of him. "Thorin! Calm down, it's alright!" he said desperately, taking hold of his uncle's shoulders.

"Fíli?" Thorin breathed, a flicker of recognition appearing in his dulled eyes. "And Kíli?"

"He's safe, Uncle, we all are," Fíli replied, with Kíli adding a call of "I'm alright, Thorin!" from his bed.

Thorin nodded at the news, but then his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell forwards, landing heavily against Fíli's shoulder. Fíli wrapped his arms around Thorin, struggling to support him, hearing his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, and feeling Thorin's heartbeat knocking at his chest. Looking up, he saw Bofur, Bilbo, and Arwen standing at the foot of Thorin's bed. Arwen looked a little flushed, but was otherwise unharmed. Fíli studied them all in shock, unsure of what to say.

"So," Bofur said finally. "That went well."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey guys, I just wanted to say another massive thank you to all my readers and reviewers! Donner and Anna – I'm so glad you enjoyed Chapter Four. I always take suggestions/requests into account when writing, so if anyone has any please do let me know. And thanks for that lovely, long review, Autumn! Yesterday I passed the compulsory literacy and numeracy exams you need to take in the UK to qualify for teacher training, so here is a chapter to celebrate! **

* * *

"_Celebrate the mountain air, shivering and unprepared, and desperate for decay."_

* * *

Kíli listened to the angry, raised voices out in the corridor and sat frozen against his pillows. Bilbo and Bofur had disappeared as soon as Thorin had been returned to bed; they had no doubt rushed back to the east corridor to tell the company the good news. But now things didn't seem so good. When Lord Elrond and Gandalf turned up, Kíli was surprised to find Arwen clearly had no intention of turning Thorin in, but Elrond had noticed the rip in his daughter's dress. Part of Kíli wanted to put his hands over his ears and drown out the voices, like he used to do when he was small, but he knew he was too old for that – he couldn't bury his head in the sand this time; he had to do something. He couldn't make out Elrond's words, but they were being delivered quickly and sounded furious. He easily recognised Fíli's panicked, protesting tone – it was one he'd often heard over the years when Fíli was trying to get them out of trouble.

He looked over at Thorin's bed where his uncle lay, silent once again. Although Óin's medicines had worked wonders, Kíli knew Thorin was still severely injured – he wasn't going to get very far with the wound in his thigh and a broken arm. If Lord Elrond forced them to leave, Kíli feared the worst... He had to protect his uncle. Making his decision, Kíli swung his legs over the side of his bed and slowly lowered his feet onto the floor. He felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest when he straightened up, and his head throbbed, but he ignored these protesting aches and staggered towards the cupboard in the corner. Fíli was storing all their weapons in the bottom of the cupboard; he said it wouldn't create a good atmosphere if they kept themselves armed in the sickroom. Kíli knew for a fact that Fíli was keeping throwing knives behind his vambraces, but never said anything. Opening the cupboard, Kíli retrieved his quiver of arrows and swung it over his shoulder. A bolt of pain shot across his chest, but he gritted his teeth until the feeling passed, then pulled out his bow and sword from the pile. A little unsteady on his feet, but determined, Kíli made his way over to Thorin's bed.

Outside the sickroom, Fíli felt like he was fighting a losing battle. Although Arwen was doing her best to placate her father, Elrond was hardly listening to her and his dark eyes were focused on Fíli.

"You and your company are doing your upmost to abuse my hospitality, Master Fíli," Elrond said icily. "Your curious, star-haired friend has been caught stealing candlesticks and Master Dwalin insists he has not broken a five-hundred-year-old statue despite the fact Lindir witnessed him kicking it... And now Thorin has assaulted my daughter."

Fíli closed his eyes with a sigh; he was going to throttle Nori and Dwalin the next time he saw them. Taking a deep breath, he made one last-ditch attempt at pleading their case: "Lord Elrond, you have to understand that Nori doesn't discriminate with his stealing – he steals from everyone. Bilbo still hasn't realised we've been using some of his cutlery from Bag End. But I promise you I will make sure he returns anything he has stolen from you... And Dwalin gets agitated when he hasn't killed anything for a while, so I'm sorry your statue had to pay the price... But he will pay for any damages out of his own pocket."

Fíli hardly recognised the voice that was coming out of his mouth; it sounded so self-assured... He had no idea where this authoritative tone was coming from, but it seemed to be working; Elrond's expression had softened slightly and he was yet to contradict him. Arwen, standing beside her father, gave Fíli a small smile of encouragement.

"And you know Thorin isn't well," Fíli continued. "You've treated him yourself; you know he's had a serious blow to the head. When he woke up he was completely disorientated, and he didn't get very far before the pain made him pass out again. Please trust that I know Thorin better than anyone, and he would never consciously seek to hurt Lady Arwen. He raised Kíli and I to know better than to strike a woman, and he never would himself unless he wasn't aware of his actions. You have my word that it won't happen again."

Elrond studied Fíli for a long time and then, for the first time that evening, he smiled. "You've spoken well, Fíli," he said, the warmth returning to his voice. "You'll make a fine representative of your people, and I appreciate your word."

Not for the first time, Fíli could sense Gandalf smiling behind him. This feeling was becoming all too familiar, and Fíli wondered if there was anyone left in Rivendell whom the wizard hadn't spoken to about the line of Durin.

"However, I would like to post Elladan and Elrohir in the sickroom until further notice," Elrond added.

"Ada, that is _not_ necessary," Arwen said sharply, knitting her brows.

"Fíli is right that his uncle hasn't been aware of his actions, I want to ensure Thorin won't injure himself or anyone else," Elrond replied.

Arwen opened her mouth to protest further, but was silenced by a metallic clatter from the sickroom. They all turned and rushed back into the room, expecting to find Thorin out of bed again, but instead they were confronted with Kíli, standing defiantly in front of his sleeping uncle's bed, his sword pointed towards the door.

"Kíli! What in Durin's name are you doing?" Fíli cried.

"You're not throwing us out!" Kíli said, his brown eyes narrowed at Elrond. "Thorin is too sick, he won't get ten yards if you make us leave... So you can't throw us out, I won't let you!" He brandished his sword at Elrond to make his point.

There was a long moment of tense silence, and then Elrond started laughing. His deep, musical chuckle echoed around the sickroom, and Gandalf, Arwen, and Fíli couldn't help but laugh too as all the ill-feelings of their previous conversation melted away. Kíli's facial expressions went from bewilderment to anger to hurt, and his cheeks grew hot with embarrassment.

Seeing his brother's chagrin, Fíli stopped laughing and put a reassuring hand on Kíli's shoulder. "It's alright, Kíli," he said softly. "Lord Elrond is letting us stay... Now let's get you back to bed."

Kíli lowered his sword, looking miserable. "I heard you shouting, I just wanted to help," he muttered.

"I know, and you have genuinely helped ease the tension," Fíli replied, with a grin. He gently took the sword and pulled Kíli's arm around his shoulder to support him. "Though we did hear a clattering... Did you drop your sword?"

"Maybe," Kíli whispered.

* * *

Thorin didn't wake up again that night. Elladan and Elrohir arrived for their sentry duty with bows in their hands and swords on their belts; they clearly didn't take any risk to their sister's safety lightly. But Fíli knew having armed elves at Thorin's bedside would only exacerbate the situation, and convinced Elrond's sons to leave their weapons in their quarters. Elrond agreed, commenting that there was only so much damage Thorin could do without his own weapons. Fíli had to elbow Kíli in the ribs when he opened his mouth to contradict this. He was no doubt going to tell the story of Thorin's victory over four fully-grown men who broke into the smithy in the village where Thorin was working. Unluckily for them, Thorin was working late, and in a room full of weapons he chose to fight only with his fists; he knocked all four unconscious with two swipes. Of course there was another incident, but the less said about Dwalin's ninety-fifth birthday party the better.

Elladan and Elrohir took three-hour shifts throughout the night, and Fíli sat at Thorin's bedside, waiting, drifting in and out of sleep, and talking idly with whichever brother was 'on duty'. Elrohir seemed a bit on edge, but Elladan wasn't fazed – he even told Fíli he'd been bribing the kitchens to stop them telling Elrond how much food was going missing. Kíli, however, wasn't as amenable. When morning came, Fíli awoke to find Kíli sitting up in bed, polishing the blade of his sword, and looking across at Elladan with suspicion. It was such a good impression of Dwalin that Fíli had to do a double-take.

An hour later, Thorin stirred. Fíli's heartbeat jolted as he leaned forward and Elladan straightened up behind him. With a soft groan, Thorin's eyes opened and seemed to search the ceiling. Fíli put a hand on his uncle's shoulder; a hand to comfort, but one that could also quickly become a restraint – he was determined to be the one to calm Thorin down, and wanted to avoid getting Elladan involved. Thorin's head snapped to the side when he felt Fíli touch his shoulder, and at first his expression was murderous, but then it dissolved into a tired smile when a familiar glint of recognition appeared in his eyes. "Fíli?" he murmured, his voice hoarse.

"How are you feeling?" Fíli asked gently.

Thorin tried to pull himself up onto his elbows with a grunt – only just noticing his arm was still in a sling – and as he did so he caught sight of Elladan standing behind Fíli. His eyes flashing black, a growl started deep in his throat and Fíli felt him push against his hand.

"Erm, Elladan, I think I can take it from here," Fíli said quickly, praying Elladan would get the hint.

"Of course, Master Fíli," Elladan smiled. "I will give you some privacy." He gave a short bow and disappeared swiftly from the room.

Fíli thanked Aulë that Elladan was a tactful elf, though he didn't doubt that he had gone to alert his father that Thorin was awake.

"You've been making friends," Thorin commented slyly.

Fíli tensed as he turned back to Thorin, but was relieved to find a smirk lurking on his uncle's lips. He set about rearranging the pillows so Thorin could sit up in bed, and draped his dark blue coat over his shoulders, sensing that, under the circumstances, Thorin would rather not be completely unclothed. Thorin settled back into his pillows, wincing slightly, and found Kíli staring at him with a dopey grin.

"Kíli," Thorin said, with a nod. "That's quite a wound you've got on your forehead – it'll make an impressive battle-scar."

"Do you think so?" Kíli said eagerly. "Though I suppose it'll never be as good as Bifur's... And I haven't had any warg's teeth pulled out of my stomach either."

"What?" Thorin asked sharply, and Fíli gave Kíli a warning glare.

"Would you like some water, Thorin?" Fíli asked, hastily filling a cup on the bedside table.

Thorin accepted it and drank deeply, then peered around the room. "How long have we been in Rivendell?" he asked, handing the cup back to Fíli.

"You know where we are?" Fíli said, almost dropping the cup.

"I had an idea where Gandalf was leading us," Thorin replied, an edge to his voice. "And your _elf-friend_ just confirmed it... I assume the elves came and saved the day?"

"Something like that," Fíli said, trying not to let his anxiety show, wondering if the barked Khuzdul insults were about to make a return. "We've been here four days... Do you remember waking up before?"

As soon as he asked, Fíli realised the question was probably a huge mistake. Thorin furrowed his brow and his expression darkened, but then something close to regret seemed to flicker in his eyes. "The elf-girl... Who was she?"

"Lady Arwen," Fíli answered reluctantly. "Lord Elrond's daughter."

"She's one of the best healers in the House of Elrond," Kíli added, before Fíli could stop him.

"The House of Elrond?" Thorin murmured. "So I struck our host's daughter, but he hasn't left me to rot outside his gates?"

"Fíli persuaded him not to," Kíli explained. "He's been doing all the talking since we got here."

"Has he now?" Thorin said, turning to Fíli with an amused smile. His uninjured hand moved, almost unconsciously, up to his chest and suddenly the smile faded. Fingers scratching at his naked neck, Thorin looked down with a flash of panic in his eyes.

"It's alright, Thorin," Fíli whispered. "I've... I've got the key, and the map." He carefully produced the key from under his shirt. "It was just for safe-keeping whilst you were being treated... Would you like them back?"

Thorin studied Fíli with a strange look he couldn't place. "No," he said slowly. "You might as well hang onto them... You'll be a better guardian for the moment, anyway."

Fíli nodded, slipping the key back inside his shirt. He could feel Thorin's inscrutable gaze on him as he did so, and he was struggling to find something to say when voices sounded from the corridor. Lord Elrond and Gandalf entered the sickroom, followed by Arwen, who was flanked by Elladan and Elrohir. Fíli felt Thorin immediately bristle; he knew his uncle wouldn't like to be outnumbered by elves in any situation, let alone when he was in bed, injured. Elrond and Gandalf stared at Fíli expectantly; it seemed it was up to him to make introductions.

"Uncle, this is our host, Lord Elrond," Fíli said, trying to keep his voice steady. "His sons, Elladan and Elrohir, and his daughter, Lady Arwen."

Fíli saw Thorin tense when his eyes fell on Arwen, and he quickly looked away again, his gaze resting on Elrond. He seemed intent on not saying a word.

"I am glad to find you looking so well, Thorin, son of Thráin," Elrond said warmly. "Sitting thus I can tell you have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thrór when he ruled under the mountain."

"Really? He made no mention of you," Thorin replied curtly.

Fíli's stomach jolted again as he looked to Elrond for his response, but Elrond seemed unfazed by Thorin's barbed comment. "You must be hungry, I will have our kitchens prepare something for you at once," he said, his smile unwavering. "And I'm sure the rest of your company would very much like to speak with you."

With that Elrond left the sickroom, Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen quickly following, and only Gandalf remained. Fíli breathed a sigh of relief; the first meeting could have gone a lot worse, and he was glad Thorin hadn't shown Elrond just how much damage he could do without a sword.

* * *

Fíli and Kíli's laughter drifted from the balcony into the sickroom, where Thorin sat finishing his first meal with Gandalf at his bedside. The Elvish porridge was too smooth and sweet for his taste, but he was so hungry he wolfed it down anyway, and was now scraping his spoon around the bowl. He could feel the wizard's eyes on him as he ate, and Gandalf was unusually quiet; this probably meant he was up to something he shouldn't be.

"What do the elves know of our quest?" Thorin asked finally, realising Gandalf wasn't going to be forthcoming with information.

"I have told Lord Elrond as little as possible," Gandalf replied. "But there will come a time in the very near future when you will have to tell him yourself."

Thorin grunted in response, hoping to demonstrate the improbability of _that_ happening. He heard more muffled, excited words from the balcony and Fíli's low chuckle. "Fíli seems changed," Thorin said carefully, scrutinising Gandalf, daring the wizard to contradict him. "What have you been up to?"

"I am sure I don't know what you mean," Gandalf said, sitting back in his chair.

"I think you know exactly what I mean," Thorin growled. "Kíli told me Fíli has been doing 'all the talking' since we arrived... and I know Fíli would never have taken the key and the map. _Someone_ gave them to him."

"Now that's where you're wrong," Gandalf said, affronted. "Fíli came and asked me for them... After, er, a little encouragement."

"That's what I mean," Thorin said darkly. "Play your games with the hobbit, Gandalf, but not with my nephew."

"You almost died, Thorin!" Gandalf snapped. "Fíli is your heir and –"

"He may be my heir, but Dís and I made the decision to raise the boys without the shadow of the throne being forever cast upon them."

"But Fíli has felt the shadow nonetheless! It has been a burden to him without you realising it!"

Thorin stared at Gandalf, the fire in his eyes slowly dimming. "Are you telling me I have failed Fíli?" he asked quietly.

"No," Gandalf said, with a sigh. "Of course you haven't. You have been a good uncle and nothing short of a father to him for so many years... But maybe now is the time to be introducing Fíli to his responsibility."

"I understand what you're saying, Gandalf, but Fíli is still so young... I don't think he's ready, not yet."

"But you thought he and Kíli were old enough to join us on this quest," Gandalf said, expertly playing devil's advocate.

"Aye," Thorin said, sinking back into his pillows. Looking towards the balcony, he felt an uneasiness spreading from his stomach. "Perhaps a better uncle would have left them at home."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello everyone! Can I just say another HUGE thank you to all my readers – I've had a nightmare week and you never fail to cheer me up. I love to know what you guys think, and your reviews absolutely make my day! Now, about Dwalin's ninety-fifth birthday party...**

* * *

"_Like a seed in the earth, waiting with bated breath, is how I'm down and out."_

* * *

Fíli couldn't sleep. He shifted in the wicker chair and tried to straighten out the blankets that had become tight and tangled around his legs. Sitting at Kíli's bedside, he was listening intently to his brother's every breath, and found himself exhaling only after he had heard Kíli do so. Kíli had become over-excited that afternoon and made himself sick. When night fell, he wouldn't go to bed, but Arwen had slipped a sleeping draught into his supper and he was out like a light. Fíli's eyes moved from Kíli's sleeping form over to Thorin's bed where his uncle lay, snoring softly. Fíli knew it wasn't just his brother he was worried about. When he and Kíli had returned to the sickroom from the balcony they had found Gandalf at Thorin's bedside, and you could cleave the atmosphere with an axe. Fíli recognised the same tension between Gandalf and Thorin as there had been between himself and Gandalf after their argument. After Gandalf left, Fíli waited for Thorin to comment on it, but he never did. Yet, it was the way Thorin had looked at him when he showed him the key that was keeping Fíli awake. That strange, indecipherable expression; Fíli was sure he had seen something close to fear lurking in it, and he wished he knew what Thorin was thinking.

The sickroom door suddenly creaked and Arwen slipped into the room. She was half-way to Kíli's bed before she realised Fíli was awake, and she started when she saw the older dwarf watching her.

"Fíli?" she whispered. "How long have you been awake?"

"I don't think I ever went to sleep," Fíli replied, with a sullen smile.

Arwen pulled Kíli's blankets over his shoulders and tucked them under his chin. "I just came to check on Kíli... I've never mixed a sleeping draught for a dwarf before, I fear I may have added too much valerian root."

"It's done the trick, anyway," Fíli said quietly. "If he's dopier than usual in the morning it won't be that noticeable."

The strain in Fíli's voice as he attempted a lighter tone didn't go unnoticed by Arwen and she studied him furtively. "I could give you something to help you sleep," she murmured. "And you know there is a perfectly good bed available next to your brother's."

Fíli glanced over at the unoccupied bed with its soft mattress and crisp, white sheets. "Thank you, my lady, but I would rather stay here... Just for tonight."

Arwen had expected this answer; she knew all about the stubbornness of dwarves. "Well, I can't have you sitting there counting down the minutes until dawn..." She turned to the bookshelf on her right and ran a searching finger across the books' glittering spines, until she paused and carefully pulled two dusty volumes down from the shelf. "I found these in my father's library and I have been waiting for an opportunity to show them to you." She held the books out for Fíli.

Fíli took them, unable to deny his curiosity. The first was a fraying, canvas-bound tome in a faded green. He tentatively opened the cover to reveal the title page and let out a surprised laugh. "The Tales of Reginn Redhand! Thorin used to read these to Kíli and I before bed... I haven't heard these stories for almost seventy years..."

Arwen smiled as Fíli flicked excitedly through the book's pages. "Maybe they will serve as a better sleeping draught for Kíli in future," she said, taking a seat on the edge of Kíli's bed.

Fíli reluctantly closed the green book of tales and turned to the other volume in his lap. This one was considerably heavier than the other and was bound in dark red leather. There were Dwarven runes stamped along the bottom of the cover, but they had been so corroded by time that Fíli could barely make them out.

"It's a history of Durin's folk," Arwen explained. "There is a picture of your great-grandfather." She reached out and opened the book to the correct page, and this was the first glimpse Fíli had ever had of Thrór.

It was a detailed, black ink sketch. Thrór looked up from the page with dark, intelligent eyes and stood with a wide, proud stance as if he owned the book. Fíli's eyes travelled up from Thrór's bejewelled beard to the crown upon his head; he was the last King Under the Mountain to wear a crown.

"Your great-grandfather has quite the impressive beard," Arwen commented, then looked over her shoulder to Thorin. "I've been wondering why your uncle has kept his so short."

"It's a mark of respect," Fíli answered, tearing his eyes from the book. "When Smaug attacked Erebor, Thrór and Thráin's beards were singed by dragon fire. Thorin doesn't grow his beard so he can remember their plight."

Arwen nodded sadly, she and Fíli shared a moment of silence to show their own respect. "Your name is in here too," Arwen said, hoping to lighten the mood. She turned a few more pages of the book. "This is your family tree."

Fíli stared down at the sprawling black branches that mapped the heirs of Durin. There was a line, now brown, but once red, running parallel to the black that traced the direct lineage of the crown; a bloodline seeping through the generations. Fíli followed it down from Thrór, to Thráin, to Thorin... to him. His heart jolted when he read his own name and his birth-date. He was the end of the line, with so many generations stacked upon him; if he stumbled, the tree was felled, and the line of Durin came crashing down.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts," Arwen said tactfully, rising from Kíli's bed.

"Wait... Just one thing," Fíli said, dragging himself from his brooding. "Both these books are written in Cirth."

"Yes," Arwen replied. "My father taught me to read it."

"But then you understand Khuzdul?" Fíli ventured warily.

"A little..."

"So... so you understood what Thorin was yelling about when he woke up?"

"I got his general meaning, yes," Arwen answered wryly.

* * *

Thorin peeled off his socks as Dís busied herself with pegging his coat up in front of the fire.

"Don't ring them out on the rug!" she snapped, when Thorin attempted to squeeze the water from his socks onto the floor. "Go and do it in the basin in the kitchen."

"If you insist, sweet sister," Thorin said, with a weary smile, and stood up.

"I do insist, and don't call me that!" Dís gave him a playful shove as he passed her. "And why are you home so late? Did you stop at the tavern on your way?"

"It should be obvious that I'm late because of this blasted weather!" Thorin called from the kitchen, and in response the wind seemed to pick up and there was a distant thunder clap; even within the rocky walls of Ered Luin the storm outside could still be heard.

Suddenly there was an almighty crack of thunder that made the ceiling shiver and petrified screams came from a room off the passage-way.

"The boys!" Dís cried.

Thorin bolted, bare-foot, out of the kitchen and joined his sister, bursting into his nephews' bedroom. Fíli and Kíli were crouched in the corner of the room, clinging to each other for dear life. Tears streamed down their red cheeks and they wouldn't stop screaming until Dís gathered them up in her arms, and they buried their faces in her long, dark hair.

"What's gotten into you two?" she gasped, rocking them gently. "You know it's only a little thunder."

"It's the orcs!" Fíli sobbed, his blonde head appearing over Dís' shoulder.

"And the goblins!" Kíli sniffed, his voice raw from screaming. "They're trying to tear down the mountain!"

"Orcs and goblins?" Dís murmured in disbelief, and then she turned on Thorin, who was standing in the doorway. "I told you, Thorin!" she said darkly, her eyes narrowed. "I warned you about telling them those stories, but did you listen? And now look what's happened!"

Thorin was frozen on the spot, paralysed by Dís' glare. Fíli and Kíli had quietened, and were now peering at him with wide, shining eyes, the fear still etched onto their faces. "Please, Dís..." He stretched out his hand to her.

"No! Go back to the kitchen," Dís growled, pulling her sons closer to her. "You've done enough here."

Thorin felt his nephews' eyes on him as he took a step back, and then he felt like he was falling... He staggered and someone was shaking him, calling his name... Ered Luin melted into black, and his eyes snapped open. The world was suddenly quiet, and he didn't know where he was.

"Thorin?"

Fíli was peering down at him, and his worried eyes had the same fear he had seen in the child screaming at the sound of thunder. With the cloak of sleep still wrapped around him and blurring the edges of his mind, Thorin reached out and grabbed Fíli's arm. Grasping it firmly, he choked out: "Forgive... me... Fíli..." And then he sank back into unconsciousness.

* * *

The whisperings of the waterfalls and soft birdsong reached his ears before Thorin opened his eyes. The sickroom of Rivendell slowly dissolved into view and he squinted against the sunlight flooding in from the balcony doorway. There was a disquieting feeling in his stomach, and he was sure it was because of a dream he couldn't quite remember; there had been thunder and fear, but he had forgotten everything else about it.

Glancing over at Kíli's bed, he started. Lady Arwen, the elf healer, was standing at Kíli's bedside. Thorin watched as she placed two gentle fingers to his nephew's wrist and checked his pulse, then laid a comforting hand on Kíli's forehead. She moved around the bed to where Fíli was sleeping in a chair, blankets crumpled in his lap. A book lay open on his stomach; she lifted it, careful not to wake him, and returned it to a pile on Kíli's bedside table. She pulled the blankets back up to Fíli's shoulders and tucked them in around him. Thorin observed her movements with intrigue... She acted with a kindness and consideration he never thought possible between elves and dwarves. An image of Dís tending to the boys when they caught dragon pox years ago came into his mind, but he quickly pushed it aside.

He was still staring when Arwen turned around. "Thorin," she smiled. "Good morning."

Thorin continued to study her awkwardly. He glanced at Fíli, wishing his nephew was awake to save him from the situation. "Morning," he said gruffly, with what he hoped was a courteous nod. He looked around the room, willing Gandalf to show up and give him someone else to talk to... But, of course, Gandalf was never there when you needed him – not until the last second, anyway.

"How are you feeling?" Arwen asked, and Thorin noted that she approached his bed with caution.

Thorin tried to sit up, but pulling himself up one-handed proved difficult. "This damn arm," he muttered, avoiding Arwen's eye.

"Here, let me help you."

Thorin flinched instinctively when Arwen came to his side, and she stopped. But when Thorin made no further protest, she slowly rearranged his pillows and helped him get comfortable.

"If you would like me to, I can strap up your arm in one of your vambraces," Arwen offered. "That way you won't have to wear a sling, and you will be able to use your hand."

Thorin looked down at his bandaged arm, then back to Arwen. "That would be most kind."

Arwen waited to see if a 'thank you' was coming. When it was made clear it wasn't, she moved to the cupboard by Kíli's bed and retrieved one of Thorin's heavy, black vambraces. She scooped up a roll of fresh bandages on her way back to Thorin's bed, and placed her things on the bedside table. Thorin didn't make further comment, so she set to work in silence. She carefully removed the sling and peeled away the bandages from Thorin's arm.

Thorin kept his eyes on his arm, watching Arwen's actions with interest, but not looking at Arwen herself. She treated him with the same tenderness she had shown Fíli and Kíli, and this made a nauseous, uncomfortable feeling spread from his stomach to his chest. Thorin started when he realised it was guilt. As Arwen continued to wind the new bandages around his arm, he felt the increasing urge to say something... But he had never been good at apologising to anyone, let alone an elf he hardly new.

"Sorry," he said suddenly, breaking the silence, peering up at Arwen reluctantly.

Arwen stopped bandaging and studied him, looking confused.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Thorin repeated, sincerely hoping Arwen would understand without him having to spell it out to her.

"That's quite alright," Arwen said, and Thorin was relieved to see a knowing smile. "I have dealt with worse."

"Really?" Thorin said, before he could stop himself. "I must try harder next time."

The two returned to silence as Arwen finished bandaging and strapped Thorin's vambrace tightly over the bandages. Once the task was done, Thorin inspected his arm and flexed his fingers, impressed. "Thank you," he murmured.

His voice was so low, only Elven ears could pick it up, and he refused to meet Arwen's gaze, but she smiled nevertheless. "You're welcome... I hope that arm is of more use to you now." She began to tidy away her scissors and the excess bandages.

"Fíli looks tired," Thorin commented, looking over at his nephew. Scraps of his unsettling dream were slowly beginning to fall back into place, and he thought he could remember Fíli's face hanging over him, almost disembodied in the darkness.

"He has hardly slept since you arrived," Arwen admitted, following Thorin's gaze. "He has just been so worried about you and Kíli."

At that moment, Kíli stirred. A loud yawn escaped his lips as he stretched in his bed, throwing off the ties of sleep. He then sat bolt upright in his usual, alarming fashion and turned to his sleeping brother, a hand reaching out to wake him.

"No, Kíli, leave him be," Thorin warned, and Kíli stopped, his hand shrinking back.

Without Fíli as a comfort blanket, Kíli seemed to be experiencing the same awkwardness Thorin had done on waking up. The young dwarf peered around the room, looking lost, until his eyes fell on a small, green book on his bedside table. He pulled it into his lap and opened it.

"Oh, Thorin, look!" he cried, before Thorin could shush him. "Tales of Reginn Redhand – the ones you used to read us!"

Thorin grimaced when Fíli awoke with a start. The blonde dwarf rubbed his eyes and looked blearily around the room, until his gaze came to rest on Kíli, who was wearing a contrite expression.

"Morning, Fíli," the younger brother whispered.

* * *

The short journey to the east corridor took twice as long as usual for Fíli, but Kíli insisted on walking the whole distance unaided. It was Kíli's first visit to the company's quarters and the promise of ale and pipe weed and pork spurred him on, despite the ache in his limbs. Finally, after many pauses for breath, the brothers reached the veranda.

"Look who I've brought with me!" Fíli grinned, as they entered.

Kíli was given a hero's welcome. A cheer went up from the dwarves and they all rushed to give Kíli a pat on the back as he was led towards the fire. Before he had even sat down, Kíli had a tankard of ale thrust into one hand and a roast chicken drumstick thrust into the other.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes, laddie!" Balin said, with a wink.

Fíli didn't take a seat next to his brother, and instead clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I just need to have a few words with Thorin, I'll be back soon." He caught Balin's eye as he said it; in an instant Balin knew there was an ulterior motive to Kíli's visit. Fíli was thankful that Kíli wasn't as quick on the uptake, and hadn't realised his brother had purposefully moved him out of the sickroom.

"But you are coming back?" Kíli asked, looking up at Fíli, clearly confused.

"Of course, I'll be back before you know it," Fíli said, attempting an encouraging smile. "Dwalin, why don't you tell us the story of your ninety-fifth birthday party?"

Another cheer went up in the room. Dwalin, though not as sharp as his brother, was sharper than Kíli, and realised what Fíli was doing. "Aye, but surely you've all heard this one before? Maybe I better not tell it again!"

Shouts of protest came from Ori and Bofur, and Kíli joined in with: "Come on, Dwalin, tell us!" And this gave Fíli his window to slip away.

Blind to his brother's disappearance, Kíli continued to plead with Dwalin. "You always have the best stories, Dwalin!"

"I'm glad you think so, lad, but I've been telling you the same tale for fifty years. Are you not bored of it by now?" Dwalin asked, with a smile. He had a habit of teasing his audience before his story-telling; he wouldn't utter a syllable until they were suitably beside themselves with excitement.

"But Bilbo hasn't heard the story!" Bofur piped up, and pushed Bilbo to the front of the crowd. This prompted a chorus of "Tell Bilbo!" as the company made themselves comfortable around the fire.

"Aye, alright then," Dwalin conceded, and a silence fell over the room. Dwalin leaned forward conspiratorially and everyone else did the same. "My story takes place many years ago, far to the west in the Blue Mountains, in the halls of Ered Luin."

Dwalin made a sweeping gesture in a westerly direction to illustrate his point, which caught everyone off-guard. All, that is, except Balin, who was used to his brother's theatrics and wondered why, after fifty years of this story, the listeners were still as attentive as ever.

"Now, in Ered Luin there is a tavern; the best damn tavern west of the Lonely Mountain, which was once owned by my friend, Náli, Aulë rest his soul. And it is here that our story begins... Náli had graciously agreed to host my ninety-fifth birthday party in his tavern, and I made sure I held it on a night when Thorin had no excuse not to attend!"

Dwalin looked around the room, wagging his finger. "All of you here old enough to remember know we were under strict orders from Dís – your lovely mother, Kíli – to ensure that her big brother had a good time. So throughout the night, we kept buying him ale after ale. I myself bought him three!"

This was the part of the story where it was tradition to shout out how many ales you had bought Thorin that night. Dori started it off with: "Two!" Followed by Glóin's: "One and a half!" Then Nori's: "Three and the other half!" And then Bifur muttered something and held up two fingers.

"Suffice to say, lads," Dwalin continued. "The leader of our company was fairly merry by the time Fáfnir challenged him to an arm wrestle!"

Fáfnir's name prompted the usual hisses and boos from the company.

"I maintain that I never invited Fáfnir and his band of miscreants to my party, but anyway, there Fáfnir was, sitting at the table with his arm thus..." Dwalin held up his arm, elbow resting on an imaginary table, fingers ready to grasp his adversary's hand.

"And did Thorin win this arm wrestle, lads? Yes, by Aulë, he did! And not only did he beat Fáfnir, he beat him with such force that he chopped the table in two with Fáfnir's arm!"

A cheer rose up from the audience with a round of applause.

"But did Fáfnir accept defeat? No he did not, and before we knew it, Thorin and I had been backed into a corner by twelve angry dwarves, threatening revenge! They wouldn't listen to reason, and then they started to goad us, saying terrible things about our families... Frár, Fáfnir's brother, made the mistake of one comment about your mother, Kíli, and you know what Thorin did?"

There were cries of "What?" and "Tell us!"

"Your uncle punched Frár square in the face and knocked out no less than four of his teeth!" Dwalin said triumphantly, and demonstrated Thorin's right hook with such power and passion that Ori had to duck to avoid losing no less than four teeth. Another cheer erupted from the listeners, with a whistle from Bofur.

"Fáfnir didn't like that one bit, and all of a sudden they were on us! It was two against eleven, but Thorin and I came out fighting! Now, I don't like to blow my own trumpet..." This prompted a cough from Balin. "But I took out a fair few of Fáfnir's band with these knuckles of mine." He cracked his tattooed knuckles for added effect. "Though Thorin was something else! He stepped on my back to launch himself into the fray! I saw him break one dwarf's nose with one hand and knock Fáfnir unconscious with the other! The whole thing was over in less than five minutes... And then there we stood, Thorin and I, covered in blood and bruises, with twelve unconscious dwarves lying at our feet! And you know what Thorin said?"

This was everyone's favourite part of the tale, and the whole company joined in with a riotous cry of: "WHO WANTS ANOTHER DRINK?!"

* * *

A muffled roar reached Fíli's ears in the sickroom, and he smiled, realising Dwalin must have reached the punch line.

"They sound like they're having fun," Thorin commented quietly. "You should go and join them."

"I will, soon," Fíli replied, shifting in his seat.

Thorin studied his nephew with concern. "Out with it, Fíli," he said, his tone harsher than he had intended. "Please," he added, his voice gentler. "Something is troubling you... Tell me."

"I think something is troubling you," Fíli murmured. "You were shouting in your sleep last night, do you remember?"

Thorin looked into his lap with a sigh. "Aye, and I've been thinking on that for some time." He met Fíli's gaze, his eyes shining.

"What is it, Thorin?" Fíli said, trying to keep his voice steady. "What's wrong?"

There was a long moment of silence where every breath got caught in Fíli's throat, but then Thorin finally answered: "I'm going to write to your mother. I'm sending you and Kíli home."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey guys, thank you so much for the wonderful response to Chapter Six! And now on with Chapter Seven; this was such a difficult chapter to write. Dean O' Gorman said in an interview that dwarves are upfront with their emotions, so yes, be prepared for angst and lots of it. Also, another familiar face makes an appearance in this chapter – thanks go to rousey for the prompt!**

* * *

"_All the months in the north that don't get light at all, lonely all year round."_

* * *

Although he stayed perfectly still in the chair, Fíli felt like he was falling. His heart seemed to break free of his ribs; unable to burst outward, it plummeted down into his stomach, its frantic beat pounding in his ears the whole time.

"No!" was the first word that broke free from Fíli's quivering lips. His mouth was dry and his body was quickly being taken over by a raw, all-consuming ache. "Uncle... please, you can't..." Fíli's mind was racing; he thrashed through scattered visions of their quest up until that point, and then he couldn't picture any further... His future had drawn a blank.

"I have made my decision, Fíli," Thorin said stoically. "It was a mistake on my part, deciding to let you and Kíli join us. I want to rectify that."

Fíli couldn't understand how Thorin could be so calm when he felt like he was having his limbs ripped apart. "Thorin, you can't send us back now," he said, swallowing to try and relieve the lump in his throat. "We've come so far... you know Kíli and I will follow you to the end."

"Aye, but I can't let you do that," Thorin murmured, his voice low and his expression unreadable. He looked away from Fíli, out towards the balcony, his eyes darkening as the afternoon sun reached his face. "I am haunted by the last look your mother gave me before I left... And I am haunted by the promise I couldn't make to her."

Fíli's stomach twisted with a spike of pain as he remembered his own farewell with Dís; he had tried to promise her that he would keep Kíli safe, that he would bring him home, but she wouldn't let him make that promise when she knew such things were beyond his control.

"You're not the only one who couldn't make that promise," Fíli said darkly, the hint of a challenge in his tone; it was the first time he had ever spoken out of turn with Thorin.

"All the more reason for you both to return to Ered Luin," Thorin replied, and there was a sharpness to his voice that implied he had registered the affront in Fíli's words. "It would be best if Ori went with you, and you can take the hobbit back to the Shire on your way."

Fíli couldn't believe what he was hearing; Thorin was tearing his company apart! And then he thought of Kíli, who at that moment was sitting by the fire, completely oblivious to all of this... The news was going to destroy him.

"Kíli..." Fíli whispered, almost choking on his brother's name. "I... I can't tell him... It'll break his heart..."

"Then you should go and retrieve him from the east corridor, I will tell him," Thorin said coolly, any traces of regret hidden in his aloof tone. "And bring Balin, Dori, and the hobbit back with you."

Fíli stared at Thorin for a long moment, speechless. When it was made clear that this was all Thorin was going to say on the matter, Fíli slipped from his chair. "Yes, uncle," he said; he had meant to sound icy, he only sounded dejected.

The walk to the east corridor seemed endless. Fíli wondered if this was because his pace was slowed, weighed down as he was by all that had just passed in the sickroom. When he left he had felt numb, bewildered... but now, with every step closer to the company's quarters, the angrier he became. Thorin had quite clearly divided his company into the experienced and the inexperienced, the capable and the incapable. Despite his years of training, despite his desperation to prove himself, and despite all he had achieved on their quest so far, Fíli had found himself on the losing side; he was being sent home.

The worst part was that his fears seemed to have been realised; Thorin didn't think he was worthy of his crown, of his kingdom. He wasn't even going to let Fíli fight for him. Everything Balin had told him paled into insignificance. What did it matter that Thorin had been proud when he was born? He obviously hadn't met his expectations. Fíli gritted his teeth when he thought of all Gandalf had done since they arrived in Rivendell; he had made him confront his destiny, and made him genuinely believe he was good enough to be a king. But Thorin didn't think that, and now the key hung around his neck like a millstone, dragging him down, and the map burned into his chest like a branding iron.

Balin was the first to notice Fíli had appeared in the doorway. The young dwarf made no sound, arriving as silent as a ghost, and he certainly looked like one; his face was so pale it was almost grey and there was no life in his eyes.

"Fíli, lad, is everything alright?" Balin asked carefully, raising his voice above the din.

The company fell silent at Balin's words and all eyes were on Fíli as he edged into the room.

"Fíli!" Kíli grinned, turning around to greet his brother. "You missed Dwalin's story!"

Fíli put a hand on Kíli's shoulder. "I need to get you back to the sickroom," he said, in no more than a whisper.

"But I've only just got here!" Kíli whined. "Five more minutes?"

"No, Kíli, _now_," Fíli said sharply. "Balin, Dori, Bilbo... Thorin would like to speak with you as well."

This sent a ripple of concern through the company, and they all looked worriedly at each other, murmuring and nervously scratching at their beards. Balin came forward first, eyeing Fíli warily, trying to deduce the problem. Bilbo followed, looking anxiously from Balin to Fíli, and then Dori joined them. Dori knew he was the surprise addition to the group; Thorin had never asked to speak to him personally before. He looked over his shoulder at his brothers; Nori only shrugged and Ori clutched his sketchbook to his chest, as if for comfort. Fíli didn't give Kíli chance to attempt walking on his own, he pulled the younger dwarf's arm around his shoulders as soon as he was on his feet, and they led the way out of the room.

"What's going on, Fíli?" Kíli whispered, when they were half-way to the sickroom. His brown eyes were wide and shining, and there was a trace of fear lurking behind them.

"I... I can't tell you, Kíli... Wait until we get to the sickroom," Fíli replied, keeping his voice low. He again became aware of the prolonged, dull ache in his chest which he assumed was his heart being very slowly cloven in two.

Arriving in the sickroom, the party assembled before Thorin. Kíli refused to return to his own bed, so Fíli let him lean against the footboard of the bed opposite Thorin's. Fíli didn't look Thorin in the eye once as he got Kíli settled.

"Fíli says you would like to speak with us?" Balin said, after a moment of nervous silence.

"Aye," Thorin sighed, looking from face to face, seeing the curiosity mingled with concern in all save Fíli's, which was turned from him. "Recent events of our journey have led me to believe I made a grave error in calling on some of our company... I am sending Fíli and Kíli back to Ered Luin, and –"

"What? No!" Kíli cried, stumbling as he lost his grip on the footboard. Fíli's hands shot out to steady him and he gently shushed him. Kíli's mouth hung open as Thorin continued, filled with all the things he wanted to say, but didn't know how.

"Mister Baggins, I would like you to go with my nephews. They will see you safely back to your comfortable hobbit hole. Dori –"

"But Bilbo is our burglar!" Kíli interrupted again, becoming increasingly agitated.

Kíli's nose started twitching and his cheeks grew red; Fíli recognised these signs from childhood, and with pain flooding his chest, he realised his brother was on the verge of tears.

"You can't send our burglar home," Kíli protested further. The hurt in his voice seemed to add: _"And you can't send me home either."_

"It's alright, Kíli," Bilbo said sadly, turning to the young dwarf behind him. "To be perfectly honest I'm surprised I even made it this far." His comforting smile faded when his gaze returned to Thorin, and he fell silent.

"Dori, I think it would be wise for Ori to accompany Fíli and Kíli, but I leave this matter up to you," Thorin said quietly.

Dori was about to reply when Fíli jumped in with: "Doesn't Ori get a say in this? Shouldn't he be here?"

"Ori is not of age, Dori speaks for him," Thorin replied dangerously.

Fíli couldn't contain himself any longer. The pain in Kíli's eyes and the pain burning a hole in his own chest bid him speak. "Why are you doing this, Thorin? Why have you no faith in us?"

A stunned silence fell over the group; no one had so openly challenged Thorin's authority before. Thorin glared at Fíli, his expression thunderous, but Fíli only glared back. Balin put a hand on Fíli's shoulder in gentle warning, but Fíli still took a step forward, waiting for Thorin's answer.

"I am only trying to protect you," Thorin answered finally, his voice quiet, guarded. "You are young, you know nothing of the world."

Balin closed his eyes at Thorin's concluding words. He knew what Thorin meant to say; that he loved his nephews, that he would do anything to stop them coming to harm, but this was not the way to say it, and he knew Fíli would not take it well.

"For Durin's sake!" Fíli growled. "Have we not proven ourselves thus far? Kíli took an arrow for you!"

"Your brother almost died, don't you dare use that in your defence!" Thorin snarled, his black gaze moving from Fíli to Kíli.

Yet Kíli didn't shrink under Thorin's eye, in fact his own expression had darkened to defiance. He straightened up, his brow furrowed. "I would take that arrow again and again, as many times needed to reclaim Erebor."

"You know we would die for you, Thorin!" Fíli added firmly.

"I will not give you that opportunity!" Thorin snapped, leaning forward, his fists clutching his bed sheets so tightly he had almost shredded them.

"Thorin, if you die on this quest, I will inherit your crown whether I fight by your side or not!" Fíli said, through gritted teeth. "Sending me home won't change that!"

A smirk bordering on a sneer appeared on Thorin's lips. "Oh ho! Tell me, Fíli, when did you become so desperate to jump into my grave?"

The past week flashed in front of Fíli's eyes; he was out on the plains, his hand pressed hard against Kíli's chest as he bled into the grass, Gandalf was holding Thorin's key out to him and it glinted in the starlight, Balin was telling him the story of his birth by the fire, the key was around his neck, cool against his chest, he was pleading Thorin's case with Lord Elrond, he was running his finger over the black ink of his family tree, tracing the line to his name... And now it had come to this. Thorin's eyes were narrowed at him, waiting.

"_You_ almost died Thorin!" Fíli said bitterly. "I am your heir –"

"AND I AM YOUR KING!" Thorin roared, his chest heaving. "You will do as I command!"

Fíli stared at Thorin for a long, breathless moment, and then, without another word, he stormed out of the sickroom.

"Fíli! Wait!" Kíli called. Lurching forward too quickly, he tripped and fell down hard onto his knees, and he stayed there, looking at the floor, shuddering. Dori and Bilbo rushed to his side and hoisted him back onto his feet. Kíli kept his arms around their shoulders as he turned his dark, watery eyes on Thorin. "Can you take me back to the east corridor?" he murmured, his voice wavering. "I don't want to be in here anymore."

In sombre silence, Dori and Bilbo slowly led Kíli out of the sickroom. Balin followed behind them, giving Thorin one last look of regret, as he too disappeared from the room. Left alone, with his nephews unable to stand being in the same room as him and his rage turning to despair, Thorin buried his head in his hands.

* * *

Fíli had no idea where he was going, he just needed to put as much distance between himself and the sickroom as possible. Careening around a corner, he almost knocked Gandalf clean off his feet.

"Fíli! Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Gandalf asked, straightening out his robes and catching his breath.

"You think I'm good enough to be King Under the Mountain?" Fíli barked, the anger and adrenaline still surging through his veins. "Well Thorin doesn't! He doesn't even think I'm good enough to fight beside him. He's sending me back home!"

He didn't give the wizard chance to respond; instead he carried on through the rabbit warren of wooden corridors, searching out fresh air. When he finally stumbled through a gateway into a garden, he bounded across a bridge into the surrounding forests. He needed some real privacy to calm himself down and sort out the chaos in his head. Believing the last place anyone would look for a dwarf was up a tree, he scrambled with surprising agility up into the first sturdy oak he found and settled himself into the fork of two thick branches. Rooting through his pockets, he discovered his pipe, but no pipe weed... Today was not going well. With Thorin's angry words ringing in his ears, mingling with the birdsong of the forest, Fíli closed his eyes and tried to untangle his thoughts.

* * *

It was the sound of his own name that woke him. Fíli hadn't even realised he had fallen asleep until his eyes snapped open and he had to squint against the fiery light of the sunset. The forest was bathed in copper-coloured shadows as the dying sun slipped below the western horizon, and despite the burnished glow it left behind, it felt noticeably colder.

"Fíli!"

Fíli was trying to place the voice when he heard the frantic pad of footsteps come to an abrupt stop directly below him. Peering down he saw Estel, Lord Elrond's ward, newly returned from the north, peering back up at him. Estel opened his mouth, but Fíli put a hasty finger to his lips and begged him to stay quiet.

"Estel! Anything?" came Elladan's voice.

"No!" Estel called back, his grey eyes fixed on Fíli. "I'll move further into the forest, you and Elrohir check the pond!"

Fíli heard the tramp of footsteps recede into silence. He hadn't had chance to say a word before Estel swung himself with easy grace into the tree, and settled in the branches opposite him.

"You knew no one would think to check up in the trees," Estel commented, grinning. "Very wise."

He scratched at the dark brown bristle under his chin that was remarkably like Kíli's, and waited for Fíli to speak. Fíli wasn't sure what to say; he had only met Estel once before, and knew very little about this strange, lanky youth who seemed perfectly at home in the company of elves. He only knew that he had been away with the rangers in the north for a few months, and was back in Rivendell for a short visit.

"Everyone is out looking for me?" Fíli asked finally, with a sigh.

"Yes, on your brother's orders."

Fíli raised an eyebrow. "_Kili's_ orders?"

"Your little brother can be very assertive when he wants to be," Estel laughed. "We're all under strict orders to bring you back to the east corridor before nightfall." He produced a pipe from his coat pocket and lit it; he was clearly making himself at home, and had no intention of forcing Fíli to go back immediately.

Fíli smelt Estel's pipe-smoke with a pang of envy. "Could I, er, borrow some of your pipe weed? I must have left mine in the sickroom."

"Of course," Estel smiled, pulling a pouch from his belt, and soon the two were drawing on their pipes in an easy silence. Unfortunately Estel wasn't content with this silence for too long. "I heard you and your uncle had an argument?" he said quietly. "About your quest for Erebor."

Fíli almost fell out of the tree. "What?" he whispered harshly. "How can you possibly know about our quest?"

Estel only seemed amused by this, and leant back against his branch with a small smirk. "You and your company underestimate the elves, Master Fíli. Lord Elrond is one of the wisest beings in Middle Earth – he figured it out soon enough... And, well, now his sons know, and his servants know... and I am pretty sure his horses have an inkling."

Fíli closed his eyes with a groan. He thought back to the book Arwen had shown him... How had he not realised?

"You look like him, you know, your uncle."

Fíli studied Estel for a long time, trying to figure out if he was joking. "No one's ever said that to me before."

"I think it's your nose," Estel said, tapping his own. "And your brow... Facially you look far more like Thorin than your brother does."

Fíli was shocked when he realised a smile had crept onto his lips. "Wait... How do you know what Thorin looks like?"

Estel choked on his pipe and something close to a blush appeared in his cheeks. "Oh, I...er, I have brought meals to Lady Arwen in the sickroom when she has stayed the night."

This time it was Fíli's turn to grin. The pair returned to silence, and Fíli looked back towards the Last Homely House, the gnawing ache in his stomach returning when he realised he would have to confront Thorin again sooner or later.

"I know you're angry, Fíli," Estel said carefully. "But you have to understand that your uncle is only trying to protect you. It's a heavy burden the crownless carry, and they wouldn't wish it on anyone else, let alone their own kin."

Fíli turned back to Estel and was shocked to see the change that had come over him. He suddenly looked years older and there was a weariness in his grey eyes. He spoke like someone carrying a dreadful weight on his shoulders; it was a voice he now recognised, but wouldn't have done a week ago. "Who are you?" Fíli asked, his tone cautious. This strange question somehow seemed like the right one.

"I have many names," Estel replied, leaning forward. "But I suppose the one you need is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I am Isildur's heir."

"An heir to the throne of Gondor," Fíli murmured, his eyes wide.

"All you need know is I understand your plight."

"But... But you have renounced your throne."

"The fact that I do not want my throne doesn't mean I don't want others to want theirs."

"I don't know what I want," Fíli sighed. "I thought I didn't want to be Thorin's heir... Then Gandalf and Balin changed my mind... And now I'm not so sure... I'm just angry. I've never been so angry... And I've never before spoken to Thorin the way I did this afternoon." He grimaced when he thought of the argument, and that the others had been there to witness it.

"Coming to terms with your birthright is a difficult process," Estel conceded. "But you do share this burden with others."

"Thorin doesn't want to share the burden with me," Fíli said, bristling. "He's sending me home. He doesn't think I have what it takes to be a king."

"Now, I do not believe that for a second."

Fíli narrowed his eyes searchingly at Estel. "Why?"

"I think your uncle has realised you _do_ have what it takes, and that scares him more than anything. He has lived with his birthright for as long as he can remember, and has suffered through it. He loves you Fíli, and maybe he can't bear the thought of you having to begin the same suffering."

Fíli thought back over his time in Rivendell; all the worrying, the sleepless nights, the loss of appetite... and now the arguments and this endless ache. Maybe Thorin was trying to protect him from all that.

"But I can't go back..." Fíli said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "I can't go back to how everything was before... I thought when Thorin woke up I could forget about being King Under the Mountain, but I can't... Not after everything that's happened."

"No, you can't," Estel agreed. "But you shouldn't have to."

"I might have to if Thorin sends me back to the Blue Mountains," Fíli said sullenly.

"I'm sure forces are already at work to ensure that doesn't happen," Estel said knowingly, and Fíli suspected he was referring to Gandalf. "Be proud of who you are, Fíli, and your uncle will come around."

"Do you ever take your own advice?" Fíli asked slyly.

A flash of something close to fear appeared in Estel's eyes, but then he smiled. "Talk of my throne is for another evening, but now I must return you to your brother before dark."

* * *

When Thorin heard footsteps out in the corridor, his heart leapt and he looked up, hoping to see Fíli enter the sickroom, but instead he found Gandalf filling the doorway. The disappointment clearly registered on his face.

"We need to have a little talk, Thorin, son of Thráin," Gandalf said slowly, taking a seat at Thorin's bedside. "It seems you have managed to undo all my good work this week in one fell swoop."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey guys! Firstly, I just want to apologise for the confusion over the posting of Chapter Seven; the site had some problems last weekend which meant everything took hours to go live, but hopefully there should be no problems with this chapter. Secondly, I also want to apologise for the delay with Chapter Eight; I had an incident with my laptop and some coffee last weekend (it was a dramatic weekend!) and subsequently had to buy a new one. But enough of my waffle, on with the next chapter…**

* * *

"_Your brothers will hunt me like a dog when they wake."_

* * *

Thorin Oakenshield was used to Gandalf scolding him, but the fact that this scolding was about his nephews added an extra sting to the wizard's words. Thorin had long resented Gandalf's sanctimonious attitude, and now the wizard was acting as if he knew Fíli and Kíli better than he did. Settling into the large wicker armchair at Thorin's bedside, Gandalf turned his steely eyes on him, but didn't make further comment.

"Where is Fíli? Is he alright?" Thorin asked, breaking the silence that was slowly turning poisonous between them.

He had never seen Fíli so agitated, and Fíli had never before been so defiant. Thorin was sure Gandalf had something to do with the drastic change that had come over his eldest nephew… Yet, more than wanting to accuse Gandalf, he wanted to know that Fíli was safe. The look Fíli had given him before he stormed out of the sickroom had haunted Thorin all afternoon.

"We don't know where he is," Gandalf answered slowly. "But he will come back when he is ready. And no, he is not alright."

Thorin's stomach twisted at the news and a despairing ache returned to his chest… He knew what this feeling was: guilt. But he wasn't ready to name it just yet. "Why are you here, Gandalf?" Thorin murmured, wondering if the wizard had come only to torture.

"I wish to redeem myself in Fíli's eyes," Gandalf replied simply.

"You would have me change my mind?" Thorin said, avoiding Gandalf's eye. "I can't do that. I don't doubt Fíli and Kíli's courage, but they are still too young for this quest."

"And how old were you when you rallied the Dwarven forces at the Battle of Azanulbizar?" Gandalf asked quietly, a knowing smile flickering on his lips.

Thorin's eyes flashed black. "That is not the point!" he growled. "Circumstances forced me into a warrior's life at an early age, and I have done all I can to avoid the same fate for my nephews."

"I understand that, Thorin, but –"

"No, you don't understand!" Thorin snapped. "You want to talk about the Battle of Azanulbizar? That battle claimed my brother… I saw him cut down before the East Gate of Khazad-dûm and could do nothing to save him… Frerin." Thorin almost choked on his younger brother's name as it struggled from his lips. "He was far too young for his fate… I know what it is to lose a brother, Gandalf. And I will not let such a thing befall Fíli or Kíli."

This was the first time in decades that Gandalf had heard Thorin mention his lost brother, and the anguish was clearly etched across Thorin's face as he remembered the battle. Gandalf let out a soft sigh; he wanted to put a comforting hand on Thorin's shoulder, but sensed it would not be welcome.

"I've lost my grandfather, my father, and my brother…" Thorin continued, his dark gaze troubled and distant. "And Fíli and Kíli were such tiny things, no higher than my knee, when I brought their father's body back home."

"I know you fear losing them, Thorin," Gandalf said, leaning forward in his chair. "But you have to accept that they are not children anymore."

"But they still know nothing of war," Thorin retorted, turning to the wizard. After a pause, he added: "You know I love them both more than my own life, and I would gladly die for them, but I cannot ask them to do the same for me."

"Why are you so assured of their death?"

Thorin didn't answer. He couldn't explain the feeling of foreboding he had carried with him from Ered Luin, and from the Shire, but Kíli's close brush with fate only seemed to heighten his fear that he had been leading his nephews to their deaths.

"If you cannot answer that question, then answer me this: why did you let them join your company in the first place?" Gandalf asked, fixing Thorin with a stern gaze, letting him know he would not get away with further silence.

"Because the pair of them followed me around for a month, begging me to let them come," Thorin answered gruffly. "Giving in was the only way I could get some peace and quiet."

"I know that is not the real reason, and so help me, Thorin, I will sit here all night until you start giving me some proper answers!" Gandalf said, his voice rising, and the room seemed to grow a little blacker as he spoke.

Thorin knew Gandalf had backed him into a corner, and he knew it was futile to keep hoping one of the elves would appear and remove Gandalf from the sickroom for harassing their patient. He wanted this interview with the wizard to be over so he could be left alone with his own thoughts again, and it seemed the only way this was going to happen was if he gave Gandalf what he asked for.

"I let them join my company because I wanted to be the first one to show them Erebor," Thorin said, in no more than a whisper. "I wanted to bring them home."

"And so you shall," Gandalf said, sitting back with a smile, finally satisfied. "Now I want to speak to you about Fíli. He has changed this past week."

"Yes, and you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Gandalf?" Thorin said sardonically.

Gandalf dismissed this comment. "You know, when we first arrived in Rivendell he was incredibly insecure. He had even got it into his head that you favoured Kíli over him."

"What?" Thorin's eyes widened. "That's absurd! How could he…?" He knitted his brows and rested his chin on his hand. "I suppose when they were children Fíli was content with his own company, but Kíli constantly demanded my attention… Fíli has always been the quieter of the two…" He sighed. "Is this another failing on my part?"

"Not at all," Gandalf smiled. "Fíli has truly realised his potential this week and found great confidence in himself… That is until this afternoon, when that confidence was shattered."

The feelings of guilt gripped Thorin once more; maybe Gandalf really was here only to torture him.

Before Thorin could reply, Gandalf continued: "Fíli has done more than prove himself in the past few days… starting with your injury out on the plains. When you fell, he was the first out of the tunnel and he led your company into battle."

Memories of the plains were still hazy and fragmented in Thorin's mind. He closed his eyes and tried to remember… He could still feel the pain ripping his skull in two as he collapsed onto the grass, blood-red drool hanging from his lips… He had looked up just before the warg's jaws had snapped around him… and he had seen Fíli charging out of the tunnel, sword held high, martialling the others to follow… There had been fire blazing in his eyes… He had looked like a warrior… like a king. Thorin opened his eyes and turned to Gandalf, his mouth hanging open slightly, unsure of what to say.

"And he has been nothing but an exemplary leader in your stead during our stay here," Gandalf said, with a small smile. "He has been either at your bedside, his brother's, or checking on the company to ensure they have all they need, often to the detriment of his own wellbeing. He has also proven to be a keen negotiator… He is the reason Lord Elrond did not leave you to rot outside his gates when you struck his daughter. And it was Fíli's idea to combine Elvish and Dwarven medicine to nurse you back to health. He has the makings of a fine king, Thorin, and if you cannot see that, you are blind."

Gandalf leant back in his chair, sounding slightly breathless. Thorin's mind was racing as he turned over everything Gandalf had told him, and a new feeling was pushing its way past the guilt, the fear… It bloomed, warm and giddy, at his core: pride. At that moment, he could not have been prouder of Fíli… but then his thoughts moved to Kíli.

"And Kíli?" Thorin whispered, reluctant to let this new, comforting feeling fade. "Is he as capable?"

"In other ways," Gandalf answered, determined not to be beaten. "He has astounded even Lord Elrond with the speed of his recovery, and he has been an unshakable source of comfort and encouragement for his brother during this difficult time… You should also know that when it looked as if Lord Elrond was going to send you and your company on your way, despite being in much pain, he climbed out of bed, armed himself, and stood guard at your bedside."

Thorin felt his lips twitch into a smile as he pictured this scene. Pride for both his nephews made beacons of his eyes… And then he thought back to all the things he had said to them that afternoon…

"You can make it right, Thorin," Gandalf urged, seeing the light dimming in Thorin's eyes. "You know now that it was not a mistake to let Fíli and Kíli join your company, but it will be a mistake to send them home."

* * *

Candles had already been lit in the corridors as Fíli and Estel made their way to the company's quarters. Estel stopped just before they reached the doorway to the veranda, and Fíli turned to him.

"I take my leave, but I am glad we had chance to speak, Fíli," Estel said, with a smile.

"Aye," Fíli nodded. "And Estel… Thank you."

Estel returned Fíli's thanks with a bow, and then slipped away, back down the corridor. Fíli noted with a grin that he was heading in the direction of Lady Arwen's quarters. Hushed voices were coming from the veranda and Fíli heard the faint crackle of a fire… He wasn't sure why he was so reluctant to face the company; maybe it was because he didn't know what to say to Bilbo or Ori, or even Kíli… But he suspected it was mainly because of the way he had spoken to Thorin. He was sure the events of the afternoon had been related to all not present word for word.

Taking a deep breath and edging through the doorway, Fíli found Kíli pacing up and down the centre of the room. A chorus of "Fíli!" rose up from the company and Kíli's head snapped in his direction. They all rushed to meet him, but Kíli arrived first, his expression murderous.

"Where were you?!" Kíli cried, punching his brother hard on the arm.

Stunned by Kíli's reaction, Fíli didn't have time to reach up to his arm that was sure to bruise before Kíli threw his arms around him and pulled him into a crushing hug.

"Don't you ever run off like that again!" Kíli scolded, his voice muffled by Fíli's shoulder. He then pulled away so he could look his brother up and down. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Fíli replied, trying hard not to laugh, even though Kíli was sounding uncannily like their mother. "You're not limping anymore," he added, with a grin.

"Oh…" Kíli looked down at his feet, then back up at Fíli, his brow furrowed. "I suppose I'm not."

Fíli peered around the room, and a host of expectant faces peered back. "Any word from Thorin?" he asked carefully, trying to keep his voice even.

An answer took a while to arrive, but finally Balin replied: "No… Sorry, laddie."

Fíli felt a familiar sinking feeling in his stomach. He looked from Balin, to Kíli, and then his eyes came to rest on Bilbo. "I'm sorry about all this, Bilbo," he said sadly.

"No, it's quite alright," Bilbo said, attempting a smile. "I should be heading home; I can hardly tell a crossbow from a croquet mallet… The real travesty is that you, Kíli, and Ori should be coming with me."

Fíli suddenly realised the company were missing one; Ori was nowhere to be seen. "Where's Ori?"

"He's, er, gone to bed," Dori answered. "He isn't feeling very well."

"What Dori means is he's sulking," Nori said, rolling his eyes.

Fíli nodded stiffly; Dori had obviously made the same decision as Thorin. Remembering his conversation with Estel, Fíli turned to Balin. "Balin, a word?"

Balin moved to the corner of the room with Fíli, and Fíli didn't comment when Kíli silently joined them. The rest of the company set about various tasks, though Fíli was sure their ears were turned towards him.

"What is it, lad?" Balin asked, his eyes narrowed with concern.

"The elves know about our quest for Erebor," Fíli whispered. "They've known for days."

"What?" Kíli gasped, and Fíli motioned for him to lower his voice.

"Who told you?" Balin murmured.

"Estel, Lord Elrond's ward… Why haven't they said something?"

"I'm not one to understand the minds of elves," Balin replied wryly.

"We should tell Thorin," Fíli said, trying to focus on the matter at hand, and not the unresolved feud. "Perhaps the elves can help us… Lord Elrond might be able to read the map."

"Aye," Balin conceded. "But I'd tread carefully with that, Fíli; you know how your uncle feels about such things… And I'm wondering why, if the elves know what we're up to, they haven't offered help before now… Perhaps they mean to detain us."

Fíli thought on this for a moment, but then he couldn't stop his mind wandering back to the angry words of the afternoon. "Why did Thorin call you to him this afternoon, Balin?" It struck Fíli as odd that Balin was the only one who wasn't being sent home, or sending someone home.

"Your uncle often seeks my counsel," Balin answered. "Seeks it, but rarely follows it… Though I could hardly get a word in edgeways this afternoon." He smiled knowingly at Fíli.

"And what would your counsel have been?" Kíli asked quietly, when his brother didn't respond.

"Honestly, I was against this venture from the start," Balin sighed. "We have a good life in Ered Luin… If Thorin wants to start sending people back there, all of us might as well go back."

Fíli was about to reply when he realised the room had fallen strangely quiet. He looked up to see Gandalf standing in the doorway, and the wizard's eyes were already fixed on him.

"Fíli, Kíli, your uncle would like to speak with you," Gandalf said gently, motioning for the brothers to follow him.

Fíli's heartbeat began pounding in his ears and he looked to Balin, his face clouded with uncertainty.

"Go on, laddie, it'll be alright," Balin said, clapping a reassuring hand on Fíli's shoulder.

Fíli swallowed, trying to relieve the sickness in his stomach, and then he and Kíli joined Gandalf, heading towards the sickroom. The wizard didn't say a word on their walk to Thorin's bedside. It was true that Kíli was no longer limping, but his stride was still a little slow. The prolonged journey and Gandalf's silence did nothing for Fíli's nerves, and he daren't think about what awaited him at the end of it all. Before they reached the sickroom doorway, Gandalf came to a stop.

"This is where I leave you," he said, with a smile, and his eyes seemed to be twinkling in the candlelight. "In you go." He gave Kíli a little nudge with his staff.

The brothers edged slowly into the sickroom and stopped at the foot of Thorin's bed. Thorin stared at them for a long time, the look in his eyes unreadable, but then his face cracked into an expression of exhaustion and regret… and, much to his nephews' surprise, Thorin opened his arms to them.

"Come here, both of you," he said softly; there was a tender note to his voice which Fíli had never heard before.

The brothers exchanged a glance which registered their shock, but then they went to their uncle. Thorin wrapped an arm around each of them as they half-clambered onto the bed at either side of him. Fíli buried his head in Thorin's shoulder, his uncle's mane of black hair tickling his nose, and scrunched up his eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. He threw one arm around Kíli at his side and the other around Thorin's back, holding the three of them together, like knitting up a wound. Fíli tried to remember the last time he had embraced his uncle like this… and he realised, with a jolt, that it was probably the time after the ill-fated game of hide-and-seek, when Thorin had come to find him in the larder. Now he felt Thorin's shoulders shuddering beneath his cheek.

"I am sorry I shouted at you," Thorin said, his voice strained as he held his nephews tighter. "And I am sorry I said the things I did… You must forgive me."

Fíli slowly pulled away, quickly wiping his eyes, and Kíli did the same.

"Of course we forgive you, Thorin," Kíli said, sniffing a little, but smiling.

"And you must forgive me for the way I spoke to you," Fíli murmured. "I'm sorry, uncle."

"There's nothing to forgive, Fíli," Thorin said, putting a hand on Fíli's shoulder. "I _have_ made a mistake, but it was not realising what fine dwarves you two have become. I promise I will never ask you to leave my side again."

"You're not sending us home?" Kíli asked excitedly, his face lighting up.

"No," Thorin said, with a small smile.

"But you're not sending Bilbo and Ori home, are you?" Kíli's expression became troubled.

"No, I'm not sending anyone home," Thorin reassured him, and Kíli's grin returned. "But on one condition," Thorin added, turning to Fíli. "That Fíli gets a good night's sleep tonight, and that he sleeps in a _bed_, not in a chair at my bedside, not at his brother's bedside –"

"And not up a tree."

All three dwarves turned to see Lady Arwen, Lord Elrond, and Gandalf enter the sickroom. Arwen was looking pointedly at Fíli.

"How did you know?" Fíli asked, eyes widening.

"Estel told me," Arwen replied, seeming amused by something. "He appeared quite desperate to let me know that he was the one who found you."

Fíli stifled a chuckle, but then he felt Thorin growing tense at his side. One sideways glance confirmed that his uncle was not impressed with the intrusion on his family's reconciliation. Thorin was wearing the same black look he reserved for the majority of Lord Elrond's visits, but Fíli's stomach lurched when he noticed Elrond's matching grave expression.

Elrond stepped forward and his dark eyes came to rest on Thorin. "As issues regarding your company's participation have been resolved, I thought now the best time to ask you, Thorin, son of Thráin, about your quest for the Lonely Mountain."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay with this chapter, but a massive thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and favourited – you guys are seriously responsible for what little is left of my sanity. OK, I probably should have given more warning, but this is actually the penultimate chapter – there will be ten chapters in total (a nice round number!) Hope you enjoy this one, and please do let me know what you think – your reviews mean the absolute world to me!**

* * *

"_You give yourself to your love like a wild animal, delivered from the plains."_

* * *

"_As issues regarding your company's participation have been resolved, I thought now the best time to ask you, Thorin, son of Thráin, about your quest for the Lonely Mountain."_

It was not the best time. In fact, Lord Elrond could not have picked a worse time. The sickroom had been filled with enough angry voices that day, and just when it looked like peace had been restored, Elrond had found another way to provoke Thorin's rage. Thorin's fingers formed fists around his bed sheets and a growl sounded deep in his throat. Fíli took an unconscious step closer to his uncle, as if preparing to stop Thorin leaping from the bed. But Thorin didn't move. His infuriated gaze turned accusatory as his eyes moved to Gandalf.

"_You_ told them," Thorin spat, and it was a statement, not a question.

"I did no such thing," Gandalf replied calmly "Lord Elrond has figured things out for himself."

"Then you have sent spies into our midst!" Thorin snarled, his narrowed eyes moving back to Elrond. "That gangly human youth who has been speaking to Fíli…"

Fíli and Arwen opened their mouths simultaneously to defend Estel, but Elrond spoke first: "I can assure you that Estel has nothing to do with this… There are only so many reasons why a company of Durin's folk would be heading so far east."

Fíli was glad Elrond had not given him chance to speak. With a jolt of his stomach he realised that Estel had brought up their quest first, not the other way around… And Fíli dreaded to think how Thorin would react if he discovered his nephews knew about Lord Elrond's revelations before he did.

"Why have you not spoken of our quest before?" Thorin asked, his voice dangerously low.

"You and your kinsman are wounded, and I am aware that there was a notion to splinter your company. There was no reason to broach the subject when your quest looked to be in jeopardy."

"So you wish to stop us!" Thorin said triumphantly. He glanced at Gandalf, and Fíli sensed his uncle thought this was some sort of personal victory.

"No, I only seek to advise," Elrond answered carefully. "I sense that this quest will be ill-fated, and I wish to dissuade you from journeying any further."

"I think you mean to detain us so you can send your own armies to take what is not rightfully theirs!" Thorin moved closer to the edge of his bed as he spoke, and Fíli's fingers twitched as he widened his protective stance.

"Then you think wrong," came Elrond's reply. "Although I am intrigued as to how you intend to reclaim Erebor when there is no way to enter the mountain."

Thorin shot Fíli a quick look to ensure his silence, but this look was, unfortunately, missed by his other nephew.

"There is a way!" Kíli piped up. "We have a key to another door!"

In revealing this information, Kíli had intended to prove Lord Elrond wrong. He thought he would win favour with his uncle by taking their host down a peg, but instead he watched as Thorin and Fíli both brought a hand to their furrowed brows with a sigh. Crestfallen, Kíli realised he had made a mistake.

"A key?" Elrond murmured; this he had not expected.

"Erm… No, I got confused, we don't have a key," Kíli said quickly, trying to rectify his blunder. "I was talking about a different door… In Ered Luin… I think Lady Arwen's drugs have muddled my senses –"

"Kíli, stop talking," Thorin said quietly.

His comment was not nearly as forceful as it could have been, but still Kíli's cheeks flushed with colour as he hung his head, looking utterly dejected. Fíli put a consoling hand on his brother's shoulder and looked to Thorin, his eyes silently asking: "What do we do now?"

This, however, was decided for them when Gandalf spoke up: "I think now is the time to show Lord Elrond the map."

Fíli tensed, and his hand jumped to his jacket where the map lay safely concealed within the inside pocket. He looked anxiously from Gandalf to Thorin.

"This was your intent all along," Thorin said, narrowing his eyes once more at the wizard. "This is why you were trying to lead us here."

"I was leading us to Rivendell because I am not too proud to ask for help," Gandalf retorted. "Fíli, you must give Lord Elrond the map."

With everyone's attentions suddenly fixed on him, Fíli felt the panic rising in his chest. He turned to Thorin, desperately seeking an answer.

Thorin was silent for an almost unbearably long time, until finally he said: "As the keeper of the map, Fíli, it is your decision."

Fíli's eyes widened in shock, and his mouth hung slightly agape… Why was Thorin doing this? Was he testing him? He stood, rooted to the spot, whilst his thoughts descended into chaos… A deathly hush fell over the room, but the silence was like screaming in Fíli's ears. What should he do? If he gave Elrond the map he feared he would plunge himself back into the torment of that afternoon, that Thorin would never look him in the eye again… But he also tried to focus on the larger picture: they needed to decipher the map's runes to have any chance of finding the secret door into the mountain. Lord Elrond was very probably the only person they were going to meet who could help them. Fíli felt that if Thorin could put aside his hatred and his prejudices, he would do anything to ensure the success of their quest. He needed to bring his uncle home, and so Fíli made his decision.

Avoiding Thorin's eye, he reached inside his jacket and produced the folded map. After taking a moment to turn it over in his fingers, he held it out to Elrond. Elrond took it with a courteous nod and opened it carefully. Fíli wished Gandalf's smile wasn't so wide; he hated the thought that he had been instrumental in the wizard's victory over his uncle, who was yet to say a word. Elrond's eyes moved slowly over the map, pausing at the bottom right-hand corner.

"Cirth ithil," he whispered, then raised his eyes from the map and added: "Moon runes."

Fíli exchanged a puzzled glance with Kíli, who had stopped looking at the floor to show some solidarity with his brother whom he believed was now probably joining him in disgrace.

Sensing the dwarves' confusion, Elrond elaborated: "Moon runes can only be read by the light of the moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written."

"Can you read them?" Fíli asked warily.

Elrond's gaze flitted to the balcony doorway, through which a white hook of moon was clearly visible, and a smile appeared on his lips. "These runes were written on a mid-summer's eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with the line of Durin. The same moon shines upon us tonight."

Fíli couldn't help but sigh with a sense of relief; something had gone right for them at last. He looked to Kíli, a spark of excitement in his eyes, and Kíli returned a giddy grin.

"I have a lectern located behind one of the east falls that will allow me to read these runes," Elrond continued.

"I will come," Thorin said, the sound of his voice startling Fíli. "Fíli, help me up."

Thorin suddenly threw back his bed sheets and made to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but even this simple movement proved difficult, and Fíli eyes shot to his uncle's thigh where the many bandages swelled beneath his breeches.

"Uncle, I really don't think that's a good idea," Fíli said hastily, putting a hand on Thorin's shoulder. The last time Thorin had been out of bed was when he first awoke in Rivendell, and then he had barely made it two steps before collapsing.

"Please, Thorin, you are not well enough to be out of bed," Arwen insisted, moving forward.

She froze at Thorin's glare, and the memory of their first meeting passed between them. Fíli moved in front of Thorin, trying to keep calm despite the fact that his uncle's anger, Arwen's anxiety, and Elrond's unease seemed to be converging in him, placed as he was, at the centre of this triangle. Thorin shrugged Fíli's hand from his shoulder and, before his nephew could stop him, he had lowered his feet onto the floor… but then he froze as the pain shot up his leg.

"Thorin, you're hurting yourself!" Fíli said urgently. "You need to get back into bed."

Thorin gritted his teeth against the pain, gripping his mattress tightly with both hands as he leant back on the bed. "Just… just give me a moment… I'll be fine…" he said defensively, sounding breathless, grimacing as the pain refused to recede.

Fíli's heart ached for his uncle at that moment. It was clear Thorin had suffered too many defeats that day, and admitting he was not yet as strong as he needed to be seemed about to destroy him. Thorin was too proud to ever say it, but Fíli knew how humiliating the current situation must be for him. He returned his hand to Thorin's shoulder, and moved to block Elrond from his uncle's sightline.

"Thorin, please, you need to save your strength for the rest of our journey," Fíli said softly. "Exerting yourself like this will only prolong your sickness."

Thorin stared at Fíli for a long moment, but then gave a stiff nod. Without another word he let Fíli help him back into bed, and Kíli, unable to bear the awkwardness of standing idle, also came to his uncle's aid and rearranged his pillows until he was comfortable.

"You and Kíli go," Thorin murmured, once he was settled. "And take Balin with you."

* * *

The party arrived at the cavern behind the waterfall Elrond had spoken of, having made their way via the east corridor to collect Balin. Bilbo had also joined them at Gandalf's request, but Fíli hadn't commented; he had long since stopped trying to figure out Gandalf's motives and simply accepted that the wizard moved in mysterious ways. Standing at the centre of the cavern's edge was the lectern Elrond had described; it was a beautiful sculpture, made of glittering white glass, like an enormous, upturned icicle which had had its top sheared off. It glinted beneath the moonlight that shone through the cascade of water.

Elrond moved to the lectern, and everyone gathered around him as he laid the map down and flattened it against the smooth, hard surface. Shreds of thick cloud split to reveal the bent bow of moon, and its beams broke through the water, illuminating the lectern so that it took on a brilliant glow, like a fallen star… and then strange runes suddenly began to appear on a section of the map that had been blank only moments before, and they shone as bright as the moon itself, reflected in the eyes of all present.

Scrutinising these newly appeared runes, Elrond began to translate:"Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole."

Fíli's stomach sank and his heart began to beat rapidly against his ribcage. He caught Balin's eye.

"Durin's Day?" Bilbo whispered, unaware of Fíli's distress.

"It is the start of the dwarves' new year, when the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appear in the sky together," Gandalf answered.

"Durin's Day will soon be upon us," Balin said gravely. "We cannot linger here."

Fíli was silent as a sense of despair set in, but Kíli voiced his brother's concern: "But Thorin can't walk… Do we have time to wait until he is well again?"

"I don't know, laddie," Balin replied honestly. "But we would be cutting it mighty fine… I stand by what I've said: it would be best for us all to return to Ered Luin. It seems forces beyond our control are seeking to put an end to our quest. Perhaps we should let them."

"Wise words, Master Balin," Elrond said, slowly folding the map and turning to Fíli. "Your company are welcome to stay in Rivendell for as long as you wish. We can provide you with food and ponies for the journey home."

Fíli managed a nod, though he remained speechless. He let Kíli lead him away with the others as they followed Elrond from the cavern. He couldn't say a word, but in his mind he was shouting… The journey back to the Blue Mountains would no longer be a journey home… He felt this quest had become his as much as it was Thorin's and he couldn't bear the thought of turning back now, not after everything that had happened… As he had told Estel only hours ago, a change had come over him, and this change was irreversible. He couldn't let their quest be abandoned… But he felt helpless in the face of the forces Balin had spoken of, and he was clearly going to be fighting against the wills of Lord Elrond and Balin himself… And then he thought of Thorin. He was determined to stop his uncle suffering another defeat.

On their return to the east corridor, Elrond was called away by Lindir. Gandalf and Kíli decided to join Balin by the veranda fireside and share the grim news with the rest of the company. This left Fíli free to search out Lady Arwen. He had only just set off towards her quarters when she appeared around the corner of the corridor, and Fíli had to blink several times to make sure he hadn't imagined her; maybe some of the forces in the world were not so opposed to their quest.

"Fíli?" she whispered. "Are you alright?"

"My lady, I need your help," Fíli said, the words tumbling quickly from his mouth, almost blurring into each other.

"Of course," Arwen replied, her brow furrowed with concern.

"The moon runes on the map revealed that we must reach the Lonely Mountain by Durin's Day… And we don't have time to wait until Thorin is fully recovered," Fíli explained, trying to keep his voice steady. "Balin believes we should abandon our quest, but I… I just can't let that happen…" He thought back to the night Arwen had given him the book on Durin's folk, and shown him the picture of his great-grandfather, his family tree – surely she understood.

"I see… But what do you need me to do?"

"You must know ways of ensuring a quicker recovery for Thorin," Fíli said quietly. "I think he would be able to walk if he could bear the pain in his leg… Can't you give him something for the pain? Or isn't there something to hasten the healing of his thigh injury?"

Arwen was silent for a long time as she studied Fíli, but finally she answered: "I will see what I can do."

* * *

Contrary to Thorin's wishes, Fíli didn't sleep in a bed that night. He spent another sleepless night in a chair at Thorin's bedside. Fíli wouldn't let anyone else tell Thorin about the map's message, and he stoically bore the brunt of Thorin's anger, because he knew his uncle's rage was mainly directed inward at himself for being the injured one - the one stopping the quest from moving forward. Thorin had sent the water jug on his bedside table flying halfway across the sickroom; it had slammed into the opposing wall and fell to the floor with a metallic clang that probably woke half of Rivendell. Fíli and Kíli had to wrestle their uncle back into bed more than once before the exhaustion became too much and he collapsed against their arms, falling into a despondent unconsciousness.

The next morning, Thorin's fury seemed to have given way to a paralysing melancholy. He sat in bed, staring at the opposite wall, refusing to speak to anyone. Fíli was sitting at Kíli's bedside, exchanging quick and concerned whispers with his brother, when Arwen entered the sickroom carrying a small satchel and what appeared to be a walking stick.

"Good morning, my lady," Fíli said, getting up to greet her as she approached Thorin's bed. "What's this you're carrying?"

Arwen placed the satchel on Thorin's bedside and presented the stick to the older dwarf, holding it horizontally in both hands. "A cane, to help you walk, Thorin" Arwen replied. "The carpenters of Rivendell are not so used to such a request, especially one made in the early hours of the morning, but I think you will be satisfied with their work. It is the perfect height."

Thorin glanced at the cane, but soon looked away again without uttering a word. Fíli, however, took a few moments to admire the craftsmanship. The walking stick was cut from a light, golden-coloured wood that had been finished with a shiny varnish. Leaves and vines had been carved into the wood, and they twisted from the cane's tip, stretching up to cluster around the handle.

"Thank you, my lady," Fíli said, smiling, almost apologetically, as Thorin still refused to comment. "And what have you brought in the bag?"

Arwen carefully laid the cane down to rest against Thorin's bedside table. "Some herbs and ointments I stole from my father's personal store," she answered nonchalantly.

Fíli's apologetic smile turned into a grin; he knew he was right to ask for Arwen's help, and the feelings of despair that had been clouding his mind all morning were beginning to disperse.

"Now, my brothers are having a little tournament out in the north courtyard, and they wondered if you would like to join them, Kíli – we hear you are quite adept with a bow," Arwen said, turning to Kíli as she began to pull vials from her satchel. "And Estel will be there too, Fíli. He's quite eager to pit your swordsmanship against his."

Thorin had turned to stare at Arwen, his expression confused, but when Fíli caught his eye he instantly looked away.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Fíli said, trying to be as tactful as possible. He wasn't going to willingly leave Arwen alone with Thorin, not after his uncle's unpredictable behaviour the night before.

"Nonsense, Estel will definitely meet his match in you," Arwen replied, holding Fíli's gaze. She knew exactly what he meant, but had no intention of backing down.

"Only if you're sure," Fíli pressed, looking uncertainly from Arwen to Thorin.

Before Arwen had time to reply, Kíli had grabbed his brother's arm and was trying to drag him towards the door. "Come on, Fíli! I want to see if I can beat Elladan and Elrohir in their tournament!"

With a sigh, Fíli let himself be dragged. After one last look at Arwen and Thorin with his gaze still fixed on the opposite wall, he followed his brother towards the north courtyard.

* * *

"Move your feet," Estel said, as the blade of his sword clashed against Fíli's. A metallic din echoed around the stone courtyard as their swords scraped apart.

"I'm trying," Fíli said, slightly breathless. "I can't match your strides…Your legs are longer than mine."

Estel couldn't help but laugh, and Fíli laughed too. He looked over to the other side of the courtyard where Kíli was still going strong. He had been firing arrow after arrow for almost three hours, and Fíli, feeling the ache in his own limbs, couldn't believe his brother wasn't tiring. Elrohir had just made the perfect shot; his long, slender arrow stuck out proudly from the centre of a circular target mounted on a tree trunk. Elladan was standing at Kíli's side, helping him position his fingers around his bow, and straightening his posture.

Kíli was about to fire when a strange shuffling sound was heard in the corridor that led to the courtyard. His head whipped to the side, and an enormous smile lit up his face. "Thorin!"

Kíli was so distracted by his uncle's appearance that the already strung arrow left his bow, and Elladan had to knock Kíli's hands back into place to keep the arrow on course and stop it taking out one of the servants who was passing behind the tree.

Fíli spun around to see Thorin and Arwen entering the courtyard. Dressed once more in his fur-lined, midnight blue coat, Thorin was gripping the wooden walking stick in one hand and walking slowly with a lopsided, but determined step. Arwen was shadowing his movements, though careful not to interfere – she knew Thorin could, and would want to, do this on his own. The servant who had only narrowly avoided Kíli's arrow came to Thorin's side with a wicker chair. He set it down, and after a nod to Arwen, disappeared back inside. Thorin settled himself in the chair, and leaned forward, with two hands folded over the handle of his cane.

"Fíli, let's go again," Estel said, breaking the tension that had settled over all of them.

At Estel's words, Kíli pulled another arrow from his quiver and demanded that he have a second shot, and the elven brothers chuckled as they agreed. Fíli turned back to Estel and raised his sword.

"Ready?" Estel asked, with a goading grin.

"Ready," Fíli replied.

Estel struck the first blow, and Fíli blocked it easily; it was the first time he had matched Estel's movements in an opening attack. Thorin's presence had ignited a fire within Fíli, and he was determined not to be beaten. He wanted to show his uncle that he was capable, a force to be reckoned with… A dwarf who could take on a dragon. For the next few minutes, Estel became that dragon, and Fíli fought with a fierceness that caught his opponent off-guard more than once. The pair moved across the courtyard, their blows becoming harder and quicker, until finally their sparring reached its climax; with their swords locked together and their faces barely inches apart as Estel looked down at Fíli, Fíli curled his leg around Estel's ankle and pulled his feet from under him, swinging the sword from his grasp as he did. Estel landed flat on his back on the stone floor with a groan, thoroughly winded, and his sword clattered down at his side.

Fíli picked up the sword and pointed its tip to Estel's throat, his chest heaving. Estel peered up at him with a knowing smile; he knew what had spurred Fíli on. Fíli took a deep breath and turned to Thorin. His uncle greeted him with a small smile, and gave a nod, which said more to Fíli than words ever could. Feeling a little light-headed and giddy from the entire episode, Fíli turned back to Estel and, placing his sword on the ground, offered him his hand. The giddiness was spreading like a joyous, triumphant fire through his veins, and he was unable to stop smiling as he helped Estel to his feet. He was sure now that there was hope, that the quest would not be abandoned… but Fíli had no way of knowing that the Lady of Lorien and Saruman the White were making their way to Rivendell.

* * *

**A/N: I really hate to do this to you guys, but it may be a couple of weeks until I can get the final chapter posted – my dissertation really does need to take priority now, but I promise I will get Chapter Ten up as soon as possible!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hey guys, the dissertation is done and dusted, so here's the FINAL chapter! (Longer Author's Note at the bottom of the page!)**

* * *

"_Follow your mother, your father, and brother back home…"_

* * *

Fíli awoke with a start. Although the black visions evaporated as soon as his eyes flew open, they left in their wake a sickly feeling in his stomach, and a pounding in his head matched only by the hammer of his heart against his ribcage. Lying in his bed in the sickroom, Fíli peered up at the ceiling which was spotted with flickering pools of golden light from the candles, and tried to breathe deeply. He couldn't quite remember what he had been dreaming about… but he was sure he had seen Kíli… and Thorin… and dragon fire… Closing his eyes, he listened out for Kíli's familiar snuffling as he turned in his sleep. Kíli was a heavy sleeper, but he could never stay still, especially if he was dreaming. As much as the kicking and whacks in the face annoyed Fíli, he couldn't deny that they had been a comfort to him on their journey; they were a reminder that Kíli was by his side and safe. He didn't like to think about their first night in Rivendell, when Kíli had been so deathly still as he slept, and Fíli knew this meant he really was dangerously ill. But now he could hear the soft rustling of Kíli's sheets to his right, signalling that his brother was very much alive and well.

Satisfied, Fíli was drifting back towards sleep when his eyes shot open again. Aside from Kíli's fidgeting, the sickroom was silent… Thorin wasn't snoring… Fíli listened, but he couldn't hear a sound from Thorin's bed opposite his own. Visions of the night Thorin stopped breathing suddenly flooded Fíli's mind and he sat bolt upright… The sight that greeted him made him let out a cry. He couldn't hear Thorin breathing because Thorin wasn't there. His uncle's bed was empty, the sheets crumpled. Fíli leapt out of bed, spilling a string of words which he had picked up from Dwalin and would never use in front of his mother. He hastily pulled on his boots and looked frantically about the sickroom. He hadn't realised Thorin's recovered mobility would pose problems, and now he dreaded to think where Thorin could have got to…

Fíli's eyes moved from the sprawled, sleeping form of Kíli to the cupboard by his bed where they had been storing their weapons… Images of Thorin retrieving Orcrist and going to pay Lord Elrond a visit flashed in front of Fíli's eyes and he desperately tried to blink them away… Surely the more likely explanation was Thorin had headed towards the east corridor, but Fíli was sure his uncle didn't know the way… What if he had got lost? Or collapsed in some dark, deserted corridor where no one would find him until morning? What if…? A familiar smell suddenly tickled Fíli's nostrils… Pipe-weed!

Following the scent like a foxhound, Fíli spun around to face the balcony doorway, and, sure enough, he could just make out a faint cloud of smoke drifting lazily in the night air. With an almost audible sigh of relief, Fíli stepped out onto the balcony. Thorin was sitting on the stone bench furthest from the doorway, pipe in one hand, walking stick in the other. It was the same spot Fíli had occupied a week ago, when Gandalf had followed him out onto the balcony, offering Thorin's key. Fíli's hand jumped unconsciously to the chain around his neck, and it wasn't lost on him just how much he had changed since then. Thorin didn't seem to have noticed Fíli's presence and, lost in his own thoughts, his gaze remained fixed on some unseen, distant point.

"Thorin?" Fíli said quietly, taking a step forward.

Thorin's head snapped to the side, his expression full of both shock and anger… But at the sight of Fíli his features softened. "Fíli?" he murmured. "I… I did not mean to wake you."

Fíli could tell Thorin was embarrassed at having been caught off-guard, and he wasn't quite sure what to say. He hovered awkwardly by the doorway, wanting to join Thorin on the bench, but aware that his uncle might like some privacy – he hadn't had much since they arrived in Rivendell.

"Are you alright?" Fíli asked carefully. He noted that Thorin had managed to pull on his boots and his overcoat, and couldn't deny he was impressed with the progress Thorin had made since yesterday.

"I'm fine," Thorin replied, a little guardedly. "Without the elves' herbs, sleeping is quite difficult when your brother insists on wriggling around like that."

Fíli managed a smile. He knew Lady Arwen hadn't made Thorin a sleeping draught that night because she thought it would interfere with the treatment of his thigh, but he also knew Kíli's sleeping habits weren't the reason for Thorin's insomnia. He suspected they had both been having troubling dreams.

Thorin registered the concern in his nephew's expression. "I worried you?"

"I wasn't sure how far you had gone," Fíli answered, deciding against telling Thorin his theory about him threatening Elrond with the weapons of his own kin.

"I remember the days when you had just learnt to walk," Thorin murmured. "You were forever disappearing and frightening the life out of your mother."

Fíli rocked on his heels, conscious of the impracticality of continuing the conversation down the length of the balcony, but still wary that his uncle might want to be left alone. "May I join you?" he asked finally.

The surprised smile, bordering on a grin, that broke out on Thorin's lips immediately set Fíli at ease, and he realised how out of place his formality had sounded.

"Of course," Thorin replied, gesturing to the bench with his pipe.

Fíli went and sat down at his side, and they both looked out towards the distant, wavering blue ribbons of the waterfalls. They shared a calm, comfortable silence, with Thorin puffing periodically on his pipe and Fíli watching the smoke twist and vanish into the air. So much that had been left unsaid hung between them like the smoke and, although Fíli was reluctant to break this soothing silence, he knew he might not find himself alone with Thorin again for some time.

"Why did you leave the decision about the map up to me?" Fíli asked slowly, turning to Thorin.

Thorin seemed to have been expecting the question, but he still studied Fíli for a long time before answering: "Being a leader requires you to make difficult decisions… Decisions where you must choose between your heart and your head, and often between your own interests and the interests of those that follow you."

Thorin took a long drag on his pipe, and looked out towards the waterfalls. "You feared I would be angry with you if you gave Lord Elrond the map, but you also knew it was necessary for the sake of our quest, and for our people."

Fíli felt a lump growing in his throat… The way Thorin said '_our_ people' signalled the shift in his attitude towards his nephew… It meant he was beginning to share the burden of the crown.

"You made the right decision under pressure, as well as any king would," Thorin continued, and then, turning to Fíli, he put a hand on his shoulder. "And I am very proud of you, Fíli."

* * *

Over the course of the week, Gandalf had grown used to Lindir knocking on his door at odd hours, delivering Lord Elrond's messages and summons. He found Lindir's twitchy, somewhat nervous demeanour quite endearing, but the elf was noticeably more agitated than usual when he called on him this time. He also didn't offer to escort the wizard to Elrond and disappeared before Gandalf could say a word. This did not bode well.

Gandalf was making his way towards the westerly terrace Lindir had described when Estel suddenly appeared, bounding around the corner, skidding to a halt in front of him.

"Gandalf!" Estel panted, clutching his side.

"Estel, my boy! Whatever is the matter?" Gandalf asked, startled by how little colour Estel had left in his cheeks.

"Galadriel… and Saruman the White… they have come to Rivendell!" Estel replied breathlessly, his grey eyes wide. "I heard them talking… to Lord Elrond… They are going to put a stop to the dwarves' quest!"

Gandalf's expression darkened, and he tightened his grip on his staff. "I should have foreseen this…" he whispered, more to himself than Estel.

Estel watched as the wizard's eyes darted to and fro, weighing up their options. He tried to straighten up despite the stabbing pain in his ribcage, and waited for Gandalf to speak.

"Thorin and his company must leave Rivendell tonight," Gandalf said finally. "I will go to Lord Elrond and distract the council for as long as possible. Estel, you must go to the sickroom and warn them… Tell Thorin they need to leave now, before dawn, and take the mountain pass. They should wait for me in the mountains and I will join them as soon as I am able."

"Right!" Estel said, though he stayed stock still as he went over Gandalf's instructions.

"Go! Make haste to the sickroom!" Gandalf cried, giving Estel a nudge with his staff, before setting off around the corner in a determined march.

Estel sprinted down the corridor, ignoring the ache in his side, and made a sharp left, only narrowly avoiding slamming into the wall. He bounded past Arwen's quarters and his step faltered… Should he let her know? Surely she would want to say goodbye… But he decided against it, there wasn't time. Distracted by these thoughts, the corner arrived sooner than Estel expected and this time his arm did graze the wall, but now he found himself opposite the sickroom doorway. With ragged, relieved breaths, Estel limped into the room… and froze. Thorin and Fíli weren't in their beds. He looked desperately around the sickroom… When Gandalf told him the plan, Estel was sure Thorin wasn't well enough to leave, but now, as it appeared Thorin was well enough to get up and wander about in the middle of the night, he was changing his mind. Suddenly he heard low voices coming from the balcony.

Estel was one of the last people Fíli expected to see bursting out onto the balcony that night, and as soon as Elrond's ward appeared looking half-demented, Fíli was on his feet.

"Estel? What is it? What's happened?" He asked urgently.

"Gandalf sent me!" Estel gasped out. "The White Council is meeting; they mean to stop you going any further!"

Fíli wasn't sure what the 'White Council' was, but the look on Estel's face told him it could be nothing good. He turned to Thorin, who was clutching the handle of his walking stick so tight his knuckles were almost white.

"I told Gandalf this would happen. I knew we should never have trusted these people!" Thorin growled, and if looks could kill, Estel would have been dead ten times over.

"Gandalf gave me instructions," Estel said, keeping his voice steady, knowing better than to protest his innocence. "You and your company are to leave Rivendell tonight, taking the mountain pass, and you must wait for him to join you in the mountains."

"Tonight?" Fíli breathed, his mind racing. He looked uncertainly at Thorin.

Thorin's narrowed eyes moved from Estel to Fíli. "Can we trust what the boy says?"

Fíli, still getting used to his uncle asking his opinion, took a moment to answer: "Aye. Estel is on our side."

"Then we must prepare to leave!" Thorin said decisively, and, leaning forward on his walking stick, pulled himself up from the bench.

Estel's shoulders sank in relief, and he turned back into the sickroom. Fíli and Thorin followed him inside, with Thorin positively striding as he stabbed his walking stick into the stone floor with each step.

Fíli rushed to Kíli's bedside and shook his brother awake. "Kíli! You need to get up, now!"

"Wha –?" Kíli mumbled, almost slapping his brother across the face as he rolled over.

"Come on, Kíli!" Fíli said, giving him a shove for good measure, as he returned to his own bed to properly dress.

"What's going on?" Kíli asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He stopped at the sight of Estel. "Estel? What are you doing here?"

"We've got to leave tonight," Fíli said, pulling on his fur-lined jacket and fastening his belt. "Before anyone tries to put an end to the quest once and for all. Now get dressed, Kíli!"

Kíli didn't need telling again. There was a booming note of authority in Fíli's voice that was new to him, and it made him move. Fíli fastened his vambraces and made a beeline for the cupboard by Kíli's bed. He met Kíli there and the two brothers quickly collected weapons.

"What about the others?" Kíli whispered, his brow furrowed as he swung his quiver over his shoulder.

Fíli thought for a second, then put a hand on Kíli's shoulder. "Go to the east corridor, tell them we have to leave now. Make sure everyone is packed and ready to go, Thorin and I will meet you there."

Kíli nodded. Although he still didn't quite understand what was happening, he could do what Fíli asked. He straightened up and in a second had vanished from the sickroom. Grabbing his twin falchions, Fíli swiftly slid them into the sheaths strapped to his back, and turned to Estel and Thorin. Thorin was struggling to fasten his black vambrace, the other already being strapped to his broken arm to hold the bandages in place. Estel's hands kept twitching towards him, but he stopped himself, knowing Thorin wouldn't appreciate his help.

Fíli retrieved Orcrist and the oak shield, and went to Thorin's side, placing the weapons on his bed. "Uncle, I can do that," he said gently, his gaze indicating Thorin's arm. Half-expecting Thorin to stubbornly refuse, Fíli resisted the urge to smile when Thorin nodded and held his arm out to him.

"We can't leave through the front door," Thorin said, turning to Estel, as if to distract him from his compromised position.

"I have been sneaking out of Rivendell after hours for twenty years," Estel grinned. "I can show you one of the many back doors so you can slip away unseen."

"What is going on?"

Estel spun around to see Arwen entering the sickroom, holding a candle. Her blue eyes moved searchingly from Estel to Fíli.

"I heard someone galloping past my door," Arwen said, when no one else spoke. She looked pointedly at Estel. "Why are you all out of bed?"

Thorin narrowed his eyes at Arwen, his jaw stiffening; he clearly wasn't impressed with her arrival, but seemed to be restraining himself, seeking to avoid another unpleasant incident. He looked to Fíli; unable to decide for himself, his wary expression was asking if Arwen was also to be trusted. Fíli couldn't be sure that Arwen didn't know of her father's plans and the White Council, but the concern and something close to bewilderment marring her soft features told him she really had no idea what was going on.

"We have to leave, my lady," Fíli said finally.

"Leave? But why?" Arwen asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Fíli opened his mouth to reply, but Estel jumped in with what Fíli assumed was an explanation in hasty Elvish. Arwen rounded on Estel and the two began a quick-fire exchange, hardly pausing for breath between bursts of unfamiliar words. Fíli listened, trying to follow the heated conversation through their facial expressions and frantic hand gestures. Thorin's name was being mentioned a lot, and Fíli knew this couldn't have been lost on Thorin, who was listening at his side.

Finally Arwen and Estel seemed to reach an impasse, and Arwen turned back to them. "I understand why you must go, even though I would rather give Thorin another few days to heal," she sighed. "But you must take these herbs and ointments with you…"

Arwen opened the drawer of Thorin's bedside table, and Fíli went to grab his pack.

"This is for the pain," Arwen said, handing Fíli a large glass vial of clear liquid. "And these will help the wound heal." She produced a further three vials and two small jars of ointment. Once Fíli had safely stored them away, she turned to a cupboard behind her and pulled out several rolls of bandages and a white wad of gauze dressings. "Tell Óin that the wound will need its dressings changed daily, and Thorin's arm will need to be re-bandaged at least once a week…" She turned to Thorin. "You should also take regular breaks to rest, and you must keep yourself hydrated."

"Thank you for your concern," Thorin said icily, but the flicker of hurt in Arwen's eyes coupled with a look from Fíli made him add, in gentler tone: "And thank you… for all you have done for my family."

Arwen smiled knowingly. "You are most welcome, Thorin Oakenshield." Her gaze then moved to the book lying on Fíli's bedside table. She went to retrieve it and held it out to Fíli with both hands. "And something for you, Fíli." It was the leather-bound history of Durin's folk.

"I… I can't accept this," Fíli said, peering up at Arwen curiously.

"It is yours," Arwen replied. Fíli took the book in both hands as Arwen had done, and she placed her fingers gently over his. "Never forget who you are, Fíli."

"Thank you, my lady," Fíli replied, looking up at Arwen with a small smile, which she returned.

"We need to go," Estel said, with a cough, looking from Arwen to Fíli with a strange expression on his face.

Fíli nodded, and carefully slipped the book into his pack. After a murmured exchange of farewells, he and Thorin pulled their packs onto their backs and followed Estel towards the east corridor.

* * *

They found the company waiting for them, assembled by the doorway to the veranda. Surveying the twelve faces crowded before him, Fíli saw that there were looks ranging from mild terror (Ori), to sleepy bemusement (Nori), to murderous indignation (Dwalin).

"What's going on, Thorin?" Dwalin asked, flexing his fingers around his axe as his black gaze moved from Thorin to Estel. "What have the elves done now?"

"Our host is meeting with a council at this very moment which means to put an end to our quest," Thorin replied. "We must leave now before they have that opportunity. Gandalf is stalling them and will meet us in the mountains."

"Why don't we put an end to their council instead?" Dwalin growled.

The shadow of a smirk appeared on Thorin's lips. He was about to reply when Balin stepped forward.

"Are you sure this is the right course, Thorin?" Balin murmured, his eyes flitting to Thorin's walking stick. "Would it not be better to wait until you are recovered? Maybe the elves can be reasoned with."

Dwalin rolled his eyes. "I assure you I am quite well," Thorin said stoically. "And this is not a discussion, we must away before dawn." He looked to Estel. "Estel is going to see us safely out."

Thorin turned and indicated that Estel should lead the way. As Estel set off down the corridor, the company following, Dwalin drew level with him. "Any funny business, lad," he said, his voice menacingly conspiratorial as he leaned forward so only Estel could hear. "And my axes will make you and I the same height."

Estel didn't say a word, but a nod implied he understood perfectly. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth; out of all the peoples he had met in Middle Earth, dwarves really were the ones most adept at delivering threats of death and maiming. He led the dwarves deeper into the labyrinth of wooden corridors, heading towards the most easterly doorway; a crooked, almost dwarf-sized doorway hidden behind the servants' quarters. Once they had arrived, Estel turned to Thorin. "This leads straight onto the mountain path, follow it and you will soon be out of the valley."

Thorin gave a stiff nod – the best thanks Estel could have hoped for – and then disappeared through the doorway, with Kíli at his side. Fíli hung back to count the company as they passed and ensure they left no one behind. Once everyone was safely through the doorway, Fíli turned to Estel. In an awful moment, he realised he might never see Estel, or Arwen, or Elladan and Elrohir again, and his heart suddenly felt heavy.

"Will we ever meet again?" Fíli asked, unable to resist voicing his fears.

Estel put a hand on Fíli's shoulder with a smile. "Of course, I will be at your uncle's coronation."

Fíli couldn't help but smile too. "I'll hold you to that. And Estel… Thank you. For everything."

Estel opened his mouth to reply, but then Thorin's booming voice sounded from beyond the doorway: "FÍLI!"

Fíli gave Estel a look of contrition, Estel only grinned, and so Fíli disappeared out onto the mountain path. He made his way to Thorin at the head of the company, counting everyone again as he moved past them, just to make sure. He reached Thorin, who was taking determined strides, his walking stick hardly touching the ground with most. Kíli walked at Thorin's other side, subtly shadowing his uncle's movements. As Fíli joined him at the front of the company, Thorin couldn't help but smile. The sun was just beginning to rise in the east, and a tiny, golden spot, seemingly no bigger than a coin, appeared on the horizon, calling them towards the Lonely Mountain. With his nephews by his side, Thorin felt stronger than ever, and he knew he had made the right decision. He couldn't send them back to Ered Luin, but he could bring them home.

* * *

**A/N: And that's it, folks! BUT don't despair, I'm planning a sequel centred around the Battle of Five Armies and its aftermath, so do look out for that. I know it's a cliché to say this has been a real journey, but I have been writing 'Family Tree' at a really crucial stage of my degree and it's got me through a lot! I also forgot to mention that my interview at the School of Education was successful and I've been offered a place on their English teaching course! I honestly cannot thank you all enough for reading, reviewing, following, and favouriting – you have no idea how much it means to me. You guys are insanely awesome and you have made me very, very happy :-)**


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